


The Morningstar Job

by DelektorskiChick



Category: Leverage, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Alec Hardison, Bisexual Eliot Spencer, Demisexual Parker, Don't worry he gets better, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Leverage Big Bang 2018, Multi, Pansexual Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Torture, a couple of times actually, blink and you miss it Supernatural reference, but non-explicit sexual content in chapter one, explicit sexual content in chapter two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-06 17:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16391873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DelektorskiChick/pseuds/DelektorskiChick
Summary: Eliot knows that he's going to die before them, well before. He even knows he's going to hell. But when he actually dies, he's still not ready for it. Neither are Parker or Hardison; they're going to do everything in their power to avenge him. Even if they have to face down the Devil himself. Because Lucifer Morningstar is most definitely alive and well in Los Angeles.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a snippet of the commentary on The Long Way Down Job; John Rogers says "Eliot isn’t trying to redeem himself. A lot of people think Eliot, “oh, he’s doing good things to redeem himself,” Eliot knows he’s going to hell. But he can do some good along the way." Combine that with my rapid bingeing of 2.5 seasons of Lucifer, and this was the result. Written for the Bang part of the 2018 Leverage Big Bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING  
> There are graphic depictions of torture and violence in almost all of Eliot’s scenes in this chapter. Please be aware of this fact.

" _Promise me, you’ll keep them safe?”_

_“Till my dying day.”_

_-Leverage, Ep 5x15 “The Long Good-Bye Job”_

_*_

_“Lucifer Morningstar… is that some sort of stage name?”_

_“God-given, I’m afraid.”_

_-Lucifer, Ep 1x01 “Pilot”_

_*_

Eliot felt his body hit the ground with a jarring thud. He tried desperately to gasp for air, but he felt the blood beginning to bubble in his lungs already.

He had known he’d go out this way. He just hadn’t known how soon.

He heard the low, feminine laugh from the corner as he tried to raise his head and place his hand over the two deceptively small wounds in his chest. His hands shook violently with tremors as he saw blood already seeping through his fingers. He pushed harder, hoping to put enough pressure on the entry wounds to keep him alive long enough to see their faces again. His lovers. His _family_.

“My father always said you didn’t like guns.”

Eliot looked away from his own chest as his executioner stepped into the light. She did look like her father; tall, blonde, and deadly.

She had a very distinctive stance.

“Chapman-” he wheezed, breath starting to stutter as his lungs slowly filled with blood.

The boot to his ribs was somewhat expected, but nevertheless made him throw his head back and gasp for already limited air.

“You don’t get to speak his name.” She hissed through clenched teeth. “You don’t get to sully it.”

Eliot coughed, feeling the ends of his ribs grate and blood spatter from his lips down his chin. He didn’t want Hardison and Parker to find him like this. Not with blood all over the floor of their place.

But he wasn’t going to get a chance to see them again. He knew it. Felt it deep in his gut as he heard the hammer of her gun click back.

Eliot closed his eyes and pictured them in happier days. Days when Nate and Sophie were there, when he’d fed his family around the table back in Boston. When they’d had the first tasting of Hardison’s horrible beer here in Portland.

Parker and Hardison. _God_ , he was going to miss them.

Eliot didn’t even have time to fully register the pop of her silenced weapon before the bullet buried itself between his closed eyes.

He fell. And fell.

And  _fell_.

*

Parker felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as soon as she opened the door to the apartment behind the brew pub. Something was different. It was too quiet, too dark.

She smelled slightly burned food, and something deeper, richer. Metallic. Eliot wouldn’t scorch his pans. He was too protective of them to do that. She reached her hand back and placed it against Hardison’s chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Something’s wrong.” He immediately went tense, sniffing the air. Parker stretched her other hand to the wall and flipped the light switch.

For a minute, her brain refused to process what she was seeing. So instead she looked other places, hearing Alec’s breath catch on a sob. The food on the stove was burnt, but someone (she absolutely would  _not_  wonder about who right now) had turned off the gas before it had caught fire. That was good, at least.

Hardison pushed past her, shoving her shoulder, following the drag marks in-

It was blood. Eliot’s blood. Thick and congealing now, in long trails. They arrowed up towards-

Distantly, Parker heard Hardison groan as he fell to his knees next to-

Her brain still wasn’t processing. It wanted to reject what she was seeing. But there was no getting around it.

It was Eliot’s  _body_  propped up against the wall. He wasn’t moving; not a muscle twitched, not a hair moved. There were two large red stains on his shirt, the rusted color standing out starkly against the pale blue of the tee he’d borrowed from Hardison just that morning. His jeans were saturated at the waist.

Parker’s vision went fuzzy when Alec cradled Eliot’s face in his palms and tipped the lifeless face they loved up to her gaze. There was one more hole, just between his unseeing eyes, with one single line of red running across his nose and down his left cheek.

And there was a word written across his forehead in blocky black letters.

 _Killer_.

*

Much to his surprise, Eliot woke up. And as soon as he did, he wished he hadn’t. His back arched and he felt worn stone against his naked back as the bullets in his chest began to work their way back out. His hands quavered in pain as they hovered uselessly over his wounds.

Mercifully, it appeared as if the one bullet in his head working itself out was what had woken him, and he wouldn’t have to go through _that_ experience conscious.

Eliot felt the bullets slide out of his chest and down his side, landing on the stone floor next to him with clinks that echoed oddly through the near silent chamber. He turned to his side and pushed himself up on one arm, his breath loud in his ears.

There was no noise in the chamber apart from his own breath and a slight crackling noise. The dark stone was worn smooth beneath his hand, and the room glowed with a dim red light that seemed to come from the stone itself.

Eliot stood with a weary sigh, but with more agility than he’d had in decades. It seemed as if his old wounds and hurts (the left knee that always creaked as he got older; the pain in his right shoulder that never really went away) had been healed, just as the bullet wounds that had ended his life had been.

“It’s always best to start on a fresh canvas, my dear.”

Eliot stiffened and turned, hands balling into fists as he attempted to locate the source of the voice.

She was half in shadows cast by the red light, highlighting her naked beauty. But as she stepped forward, the shadows moved, revealing the right half of her body as scarred and melted, most of it down to the bone. Her right eye was ghostly white, tinged with green. The hair on that side of her head had been scorched off, in contrast to the golden fall on her left.

The crackling noise came from her skin as she moved.

Eliot felt terror pierce his gut more fiercely than it had since he’d been a damn kid who’d been dropped into the cesspit men called war. He’d thought, hoped beyond hope, that he’d  _somehow_  still been alive.

This...

“Dante got one thing right.” Her voice hissed through her exposed teeth as she advanced towards him. “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

Eliot felt his breath come harder as he backed into the stone wall. He tried to steady it; he’d accepted he was _damned_ a long time ago, but this...

“My name is Bazitel of the Lilim. And I am your torturer, Eliot Spencer.

“Welcome to Hell.”

*

Nate and Sophie got there two days before the funeral.

That’s what made it real to Hardison. Nate, uncharacteristically without words. Tears freely flowing down Sophie’s face. The aching, bleeding hole in his heart pulsing around the place Eliot had so recently occupied had seemed further away, less real, without them there.

They sat in Eliot’s apartment, three buildings down from the brew pub; the apartment he’d maintained to protect him and Parker.

_“I got a lotta enemies, Hardison. Better, safer for you and Parker if my legal address ain’t the pub.”_

Maybe Eliot’s place wasn’t the best place to go. But the memories were sharper, more painful at  _their_  place.

Every time Hardison closed his eyes, the way they’d found his body was emblazoned on the inside of his lids. He’d open them in the morning and expect to find him in the kitchen, making something disturbingly healthy and yet still tasty.

They sat around Eliot’s living room that he’d hardly done any living in, the space he’d occupied in their group like the empty socket left behind when a tooth was pulled. Ragged and bleeding.

Parker was on his lap, his arms wrapped around her protectively. Nate and Sophie sat as close as physically possible on the couch.

No one said a word. They just sat there and missed him for a little while.

.0.0.0.

It was the next day before they could do something more. Hardison pulled himself together enough to at least double check the footage he’d willingly given over to the police when they’d asked for it.

And he felt the first stirrings of anger.

“Whoever did this got past my security,” he said, ice in his voice. “ _My_  security. They’re good, but no one else is this good except-”

“Cha0s is still incarcerated. Has been for two and a half months.” Sophie smiled thinly as he looked at her. “I checked on the flight over.”

“Moreau is too.” Nate added, his voice dry and quiet. “Though he has been allowed to have visitors lately.”

That was all Hardison needed.

And that  _really_  sent them down the rabbit hole.

*

Eliot hissed a breath out between bloodied teeth. He was bent over at the waist, his arms shackled behind his back and chained somewhere in the cavern above him, and his neck was chained to a bolt in the rock below him. His thighs and biceps were already shaking from the strain, and the rest of him would be soon enough. He felt like he couldn’t get enough air in, and with the stress position cramping his diaphragm it was actually very likely he wasn’t.

But hey, at least he couldn’t die in Hell. Not without the Devil’s consent, anyway, according to Bazitel. And, apparently, the King of Hell was currently on an extended vacation somewhere in LA, so there wasn’t going to be a reprieve for him any time soon.

Soft, strong fingers slid through his hair, catching slightly on a few small bloody mats. Eliot really didn’t want to lift his head; he knew what he would see and he knew it would make it even more difficult to breathe.

But the hand fisted in his hair and yanked his head up anyway.

He stared up at her, his heart breaking.

“Tell me, Eliot.” It was her face, her voice, but it couldn’t be her. She would never be this cruel. “Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done in your life.”

It was Parker’s face, Parker’s voice. Parker’s _eyes_. But she wouldn’t hurt him this way. He knew it. He’d asked her not to, all those years ago before going after Moreau, and she’d honored that. Then and all the years since. She wouldn’t do it now.

Would she?

He grunted, the best he could do in this position. This wasn’t Parker. He’d done his job. She was still out there, still _alive_. Her and Hardison.

 _He_ was dead.

 _He_ was in Hell.

This was Bazitel, wearing Parker’s face, trying to make him feel guilty. That’s not to say he didn’t _feel_ guilty. He was damned, he’d known that for a long time. Since the day he’d started killing for money. But Eliot had made his peace with that, around the time he’d  _stopped_  killing for money.

So yes, he felt guilt. He felt _mountains_ of it. He deserved to be punished with it.

But he would not let this demon bitch sully Parker for him. Not a chance. Not Hardison either, as he watched the face morph grotesquely into Alec’s strong features. The demon in Hardison’s guise opened its mouth to speak, but Eliot cut it off.

“Bite me, you half-faced whore.” It came out quieter than he’d have liked, but it was what he could manage. “Bite me and fuck off.”

Bazitel dropped her glamour and his head, stepping away from Eliot as he swayed slightly. He wondered what would happen because of this little defiance. Last time, she’d broken his back and let him twitch for a few hours before healing him.

A burning line of pain ran up the edge of his spine, and Eliot shuddered. A long, pale worm was dangled into his vision. It took him a moment to realize it was a strip of skin. _His_ skin. Skin that Bazitel had just cut from his back.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve flayed someone with a knife. Let’s see how long it takes you to scream.”

*

Hardison was standing at the command center and staring into space at the blank screens, barely blinking. Parker didn’t like that. He was never motionless, never silent. He was always bouncing his knee or tapping his fingers, always humming or muttering under his breath. To see him frozen in place made her feel all wiggly inside, and not in a good way.

Like when she’d lost Mr. Bunny.

“Alec?”

He started as she slid under his arm and wrapped a hand around his waist, needing to touch him.

They’d buried Eliot three hours ago. She needed to feel him in a way she so rarely did.

“What’s wrong?”

He let out a long sigh and pulled her to him, squeezing her shoulders and dropping a kiss on her head.

“I think I found who ki-” He swallowed hard. “I think I found who took him from us.”

Parker pushed back slightly from him, trying to get a glimpse of his face. She’d gotten better at emotions, she _had_. But faces usually gave her the best cues.

“Why are you...” it took her a minute to find the right word. “Why are you _empty_ then?”

Hardison’s mouth quirked up a little bit, just at the corner. “’Cause I don’t think you’re gonna believe it. _I’m_ still having problems believing it and I came up with the damn answer.” He sighed, then tapped a couple of keys in front of him, pulling up footage and research on the screen across from them.

“The blonde on the left is the one I’ve been tracking. She goes in the brew pub just as the cameras black out.”

“You get this from the donut shop across the street?”

“Yep. She zapped all my cams, which means she must’ve had my frequency. I checked, and she’s been visiting Moreau as well. Facial recognition says she’s Gloria Chapman, formerly Gloria Hendler. She’s not married or divorced, but when I searched why she changed her name, I came up with this.” A birth certificate from a tiny European country flashed onto the screen. Chills ran down Parker’s spine.

“San Lorenzo?”

Hardison nodded grimly. “Apparently her father was this wonderful gentleman.” A wanted poster popped up next. Parker saw Hardison’s brow furrow a bit deeper in what seemed to be anger.

“What is it?”

“He was there, when Moreau threw me in the pool eight years ago. He got up in Eliot’s face.”

“Well then, we track him down and ask him about his daughter.”

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

He clicked another button and a big red “DECEASED” scrawled over the blond man’s face.

“He died.” Hardison tapped a few more keys, crime scene photos scrolling into view. “He died the day before we flew out to San Lorenzo to go after Moreau, in some warehouse in a sort of giant firefight-slash-explosion.”

Nate and Sophie stepped into the room then, ostensibly to say goodbye. Their flight _was_ in a couple hours, after all.

Nate froze and went dead white.

“Nate? What is it?” Sophie’s voice had a thread of worry in it.

Nate swallowed hard. “I swore to myself I’d never tell you. Any of you.”

“Nate,” Parker’s voice was steel. “His daughter killed Eliot. Whatever promise you made, whoever it was for, we need to know.”

“Eliot.” Hardison’s voice was quiet and his face ashy. “It was Eliot, wasn’t it?”

Nate nodded. “He did it to make sure the Italian and I got out alive, to take down Moreau.

“He killed them all.”

*

Bazitel was frustrated. In her several thousand years working in the pit, this wasn’t her first time being stumped by a soul. But this one, this Eliot Spencer...

The fool wouldn’t break.

She’d just fucking  _skinned_  his back, and he was still stoic. Shaking, yes. Bloodied and weak, yes. But not broken. She’d worn the skins of his lovers, his victims, tried to get him to confess what he’d done. She’d even recreated a warehouse full of dead bodies and fire, pulled straight from his memories, something that would have given any _sane_ soul nightmares.

And _oh_ , did this one have _nightmares_. But he just stood there and  _took_  it, took what she gave him and waited for more. She’d had no chance yet to figure out what his most effective Hell-loop would be, what would make him scream and squirm until he was begging to be set free.

With a wave of her hand, she vanished his chains and let him collapse in a heap on the floor of the cavern. He lay where he fell, limbs all in a tangle, blood running everywhere from the vicious gouges she’d carved all over his back.

“Two... boys... wheel...”

Bazitel cocked her head. Had he finally cracked and she just hadn’t noticed?

The demon strode closer, squatting down beside him and tilting her head to listen. Was he actually  _singing_?

Yes, huffed between ragged breaths, the man was singing, though it wasn’t any song she knew. And she knew all of them. Bieber was a favorite torture of hers.

“Two good ol’ boys, behind the wheel, chasing down bad guys in Lucille. Two good ol-”

She gripped his hair at the roots and yanked his head up. He groaned and opened his eyes into slits.

“I don’t know what this song means, but it must mean a lot to you, Eliot Spencer.” She shifted her grip so that his lower jaw was clamped in her flesh hand. Then with her bone one, she reached in, gripped his tongue, and yanked with all her supernatural strength.

His screams, as they finally came, were music to her ears. Much better than that country-toned crap he’d been singing.

*

It took Parker a moment for her brain to reboot with the new connections this news made. It was symmetrical, and her brain liked that, even if it loathed what made it so.

She still managed to be the first one to recover.

“Hardison, you mentioned an answer you weren’t sure we’d believe?”

Alec took a shaky breath, but she knew him, knew how to ground him. She knew that getting his mind back on this would get him off the fact that Eliot had-

She put that in the box in her mind labeled “Deal with Later”.

“I started tracking Chapman’s movements, and aside from visiting Moreau a couple times, I got a lot of hits for her in LA. Specifically this nightclub called Lux.” Pictures flashed on and off the screen, helpfully illustrating his words. “It’s owned by this guy, a dude who calls himself Lucifer Morningstar.”

Nate actually snorted.

“I know, right?” Hardison gestured to the screens. “Dude really thinks he’s the devil. Aside from owning the club, he’s listed “Consultant to the LAPD” on his taxes which, I thought  _we_  were filthy rich, but _day_ -um.” He shook his head. “Thing is, he’s sorta like us. Not helping people cause it’s the right thing to do, or anything, but he gives favors. Helps people, but in a tit for tat kind of a thing. And he’s  _good_  at it too.

“Now, I don’t have footage from inside the club, but I tracked her going in every night for a week until I managed to get this number off Morningstar’s phone records.”

“That’s an Interpol prefix.” Sophie’s voice was tight.

“I noticed that too, and let me just say that Interpol’s switchboard may be good, but I’m better.” His fingers clicked on the keys and a photo of Sterling flashed up next to the sinfully good-looking man calling himself Lucifer. “He called Sterling’s receptionist. He was on that line for ten minutes after she transferred the call. That’s got to be how Morningstar got the info on us to Gloria.”

Hardison stopped and took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing; I don’t know if this guy really  _isn’t_  the devil. _”_ He held up a hand as Nate made some sort of disapproving noise. “I know man, believe me, took me a while to start thinking that myself. But Nate...”

He pulled up videos. Lots of videos.

“I checked, and if this footage was faked there’s no _way_ I can tell. I’ve run it through every scanner I’ve got. Every tool I’ve used says it’s legit, except my actual eyeballs.”

There were clips of bullets just... stopping. People moving from one side of the frame to the other in the flick of an eye. The edge of one frame held a glowing wing outspread, and it looked like nothing on earth.

“How else do you think that he persuaded  _Sterling_  to give us up? It’s the only thing I can think of.”

Parker walked around the com center, pulling in towards the photo of Lucifer Morningstar on Hardison’s screens. She was quiet for several minutes. Turning back to her found family, she spoke.

“Nate, you and Sophie are retired. If this thing blows back on us, I don’t want him to take you out too.”

Nate started to sputter but calmed at Sophie’s touch on his arm. “We’ll get as far away as you need us to be.”

“Good.” She turned back once more to the screen, to  _him_. “Hardison, book us the soonest tickets you can get for LA.

“Let’s go steal us a devil.”

*

As Eliot-on his hands and knees-choked on his own blood, he put “regrow your own tongue” on his list of things never to do again, just after ‘taste Hardison’s beer’. He coughed up the last of the clotting mess, spitting it with some force to the floor at the feet of the demon tormenting him. But that was all he could do. He flopped down on his side, breathing heavily and exhausted. He closed his eyes as Bazitel neared him, her steps the odd alternating padding of a bare foot and then the crunch of bone.

She wasn’t just completely skeletal on one half, he’d realized sometime in the last week, week and a half. It really was as if someone or something had burned only half of her body, stopping partway through to just let her decompose the rest of the way. Chunks of rotting flesh clung to her ribs, dried out sinews kept her arm moving. Something finally clicked in his brain.

“Did you inspire the myths of Hela,” he wheezed, “Or were you created in her image?”

That stopped her footsteps for a moment.

“You know, I never really thought about it.” Skeletal toes pushed him onto his back. “Not really something I spend my time thinking on.”

She sat astride his belly and Eliot froze, all too aware of the soft flesh on one side and greasy bone on the other. He really didn’t want to think about the fact that he was also naked.

“I’d rather think about what to do with you.” She pinned his wrists to the floor near his head, her flesh covered fingers just as strong as her bone ones. When she started to lean in, Eliot closed his eyes and turned his head away slightly. Bazitel stopped moving. She pulled back, removing her hands from his wrists. Eliot left his hands where they were anyway. He didn’t want to push her any more than he already had.

She bent back over him, and Eliot struggled not to let his anxiety show in his breathing. She straightened his arms out, palms up, but Eliot still refused to open his eyes.

He should have.

He did when other hands, bigger hands, grabbed his wrists and held them in place. Two giant, burly,  _things_  held his arms in place, while another of the _things_ held his ankles. Bazitelrose up slightly on her knees, reaching for something just out of sight. He’d seen her do this before, reaching out and pulling something from nothing, and still it bothered him.

It bothered him more when he saw what she held.

Eliot bucked up, trying to unseat her and shake off the demons that held him, but to no avail.

“I haven’t used this in a long time.” She went breathy over the tool she’d picked up, stroking it lovingly. “I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of these, but they were all the rage oh, 2000 years or so ago.” She reached out again and this time pulled back three long metal spikes. Eliot couldn’t tell if the red cast to them was just the light of the cavern or if there was actually blood on them.

“You were raised in the church.” Bazitel wasn’t asking a question, but Eliot nodded anyway. He was entranced by the spikes in her hand. “You know that the day the Christ was crucified, there were two others as well? Two thieves? One who admonished the other for berating the innocent in the middle?” She held up the spikes and Eliot stopped breathing. “These are the so-called nails that went through that berating thief’s body. He’s got a chamber a lot like this down here. We thought he might like to share them with a fellow thief.”

Bazitel stood from his waist and placed one nail against his right wrist, hefting the large wooden hammer in her skeletal hand. “This hammer also nailed the Christ to the cross. You should feel honored, Eliot Spencer. These are pieces of history you’re going to be experiencing.”

And then she dropped the hammer down, and Eliot screamed.

*

Parker and Hardison sat in their rental Lucille across the street and down a block from the nightclub Lux.

“Why am I doing this again?”

“Because his penthouse is on the top floor, I’m swinging over and climbing up from the next building, you’re scared of heights, and Morningstar is at the very _least_ bisexual.” Hardison sighed.

“This is normally what we’d send Eliot in to do; be the bait, right?”

Parker nodded, standing and double checking the harness around her waist. “We’re doing this for him, remember that if it gets too hard. We’re doing this to find out what Morningstar has on Sterling, and see if he’s got the whereabouts of Gloria. Get him to bring you up to the suite in ninety minutes.” She adjusted one last strap. “That should be all I need to get in. He keeps the terrace doors unlocked.”

Hardison still looked vaguely guilty about this job. She took his face in her hands and tilted it towards her, lifting his head from where it hung. She bent down and pressed her lips comfortingly on his forehead.

“We’re doing this for Eliot. Just keep his name in your head. Eliot. _Eliot_.”

Hardison picked up the mantra she’d been using to stay sane.

“Eliot.”

“Good.” She nodded briskly, tucking her blonde hair into her cap. “Use the guilt, if you have it. Make it look like angst. Tell the truth, if he asks. Your boyfriend left.” She swallowed hard. “Don’t get caught up in the details. Buy a couple drinks, and don’t ogle the women.”

She bent down and kissed him again, this time softly on the lips, then quickly slid out the back of the van. If she got higher than three stories soon, she could lie to herself and say that the tears were the wind in her eyes.

.0.0.0.

Hardison was most definitely not comfortable in this situation. It was easy enough to turn down the hot girls when there were all these gorgeous men to be had, but it still felt wrong to him. Like someone had rewired his computers while he’d been away, and they still worked, they just didn’t work the same  _way_  as they had before.

His body still remembered how to flirt, it just felt wrong when he intended to seduce someone. Someone not Eliot, at least.

A pain flared in his heart, short and sharp. _Don’t think about that. Not right now._

But apparently, that was working in his favor. He hadn’t met eyes with this Lucifer Morningstar guy yet, but he’d felt a strong sense of being watched several times.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and Hardison tensed.

“Hey, chill. Got a proposition for you.” Hardison turned his head to see a woman of middling height lean gracefully back on her elbows on the bar. One of his eyebrows rose slightly at the scar through one of hers. He knew who this was; Mazikeen Smith, Lucifer Morningstar’s head bar tender/bounty hunter. One to definitely watch out for.

“My boss over there,” she tilted her head and gestured with it to indicate one of the tables. “Would like to offer you a drink. But he also would like to talk with you for a bit. Offer’s open. Take it or leave it.” She said, shrugging and turning her gaze away and putting a tone in her voice that reminded him of Parker before she jumped off a ten-story building.

Mazikeen was bored.

Hmm.

She pushed away from the bar, leaving Hardison there to contemplate the offer. Sighing, he downed the last of his whiskey and-

 _God_ , the burn made him miss Eliot more. The man had absolutely _no_ taste when it came to alcohol. Maybe that had been why he’d ordered the Tennessee Rye. A last nod to his partner.

Sniffing, Hardison pushed the glass away and stood, walking over to what he suspected was the literal devil to try and seduce him.

Sometimes he really wished he’d just gone to college like his Nana wanted.

*

Lucifer Morningstar watched as the quiet young man from the bar walked slowly over to his table. He’d sent the Brittanys away when he’d asked Maze to offer the boy a drink. He’d seen the young black man politely turn away all the women who’d come up to him, though he’d chatted briefly with the one fellow who had stopped to flirt.

He was a mystery, and Lucifer was having a sad lack of those at the moment, other than the loss of his devil face and who stuck his wings on his back. The detective’s current case load was boring as Hell, and he should know. This mystery posed an intrigue to distract him.

And it didn’t hurt that the man was  _very_  good looking.

He stopped directly in front of Lucifer. And Lucifer knew what a picture he made, arms spread wide over the back of the bench seat, legs crossed before him, his suit jacket unbuttoned. He could see it in the man’s breathing, in his pupils that dilated as they met his for the first time.

Oh, yes, this was going to be interesting. He moved one arm indicating the seat next to him. The man smoothed his shirt down as he sat, almost as if he were unused to wearing something that looked like it belonged to an office worker’s casual Friday.

“Lucifer Morningstar, at your service.” He waved at the untouched drink on the table before them. “I just had Maze bring over what you’d been drinking.” The man picked up the glass tentatively, with what looked like a sad smile.

“Thank you.”

Lucifer’s own smile grew. He liked this man’s voice. Strong, but not so deep that it carried too far over the crowd.

“It’s just occurred to me-” it hadn’t- “That I don’t even know your name.”

The man took a slow sip of his whiskey before he answered. “Alec.”

“Ah, a man of few words, are we? Simple questions then. Are you drinking for a reason, Alec, or are you simply drinking to drink?”

He swirled his drink a moment before looking up and answering. “Drinking to forget.”

Lucifer saw the pain in his eyes and stopped smiling. He sat forward, elbows on knees and really  _looked_  at Alec. He was practically bleeding sorrow.

“Forget what? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Alec sighed again, this time leaning back. “My... my partner. He left.” That sad smile again. “I guess I keep waiting for him to just, walk up behind me with that shit-eating grin of his and say-” his voice cracked and Alec took a deep breath. “And say “Dammit, Alec.” He and my girl, Parker-” He twitched and stopped speaking.

“Oh, a trio.” Lucifer’s smile came back and grew lecherous. “So scandalous.”

“It’s not like that.” Alec’s eyes flashed in anger, and Lucifer realized he’d miss-stepped. He’d read this whole thing wrong.

“It was never like that.” Alec went on again, the sadness back in his voice.

“My apologies, Alec.” Lucifer leaned back against his seat, legs uncrossing and re-crossing them in the other direction. “It seems to me that this is more serious than someone simply leaving a relationship.” Alec took a sip of his drink. “When did he die?”

The man swallowed hard around the alcohol. “It’s been five days since we buried him.”

Lucifer made a sympathetic tsk. “Poor dear. That’s much too soon to be out like this.”

There was a wry twist to Alec’s mouth now, one that Lucifer liked the look of. He reached out and grasped his hand, marveling in the soft play of dark skin with light.

“So, tell me, Alec.” The man met his eyes. “What do you truly desire?”

*

Parker was hissing cues in his ear, but Hardison felt the pull of Morningstar’s eyes. It was strong; but they’d planned for this. They’d heard about this seemingly magical ability of his, heard the stories of people spilling their guts and confessing everything from not wanting to marry a fiancé at the altar to serial murder. As Morningstar said those words; “What do you truly desire?” Hardison focused on what he wanted the most at that one single moment. Something simple, yet easy to believe.

“To forget. To have someone help me forget.”

He sat back, slightly dazed that  _holyshitthatactuallyworked_  before the devil placed a hand on his knee.

Parker was  _still_  hissing in his ear. “Why’d you give him our real names, Hardison?” she queried again. Was she still upset about that? She’d nearly blown his eardrum out when he’d done it.

But he had to ignore her. He needed all his attention on Lucifer at this moment. It was like being hunted by a tiger. He had to be aware of every single movement.

Slowly but firmly, Morningstar’s hand slid up his knee and to Hardison’s inner thigh. He shakily inhaled at the pressure, so intimate and familiar, but also wrong. Lucifer Morningstar was not Eliot Spencer.

Eliot.  _Eliot_. You’re doing this for Eliot.

Thinking that, he leaned forward, inviting Lucifer to lean in closer and move his hand even higher.

“That, I can accommodate, Alec.” His voice was low against his ear. A shiver ran down Hardison’s spine as Lucifer’s hand cupped the back of his neck. He felt his own hands drift of their own accord to Lucifer’s knees.

“ _Daring_ though you must be to have had two devoted lovers, what’s say we take this little tête-à-tête upstairs, hmm? Make things a little more private?”

Private. Yes, that’s what they wanted. Lucifer in private. He tried to answer coherently, but all Hardison could do was nod.

Lucifer gave his ear a quick nibble at the same time he cupped Hardison and gave him a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll see what we can do about helping you forget.”

.0.0.0.

Hardison didn’t really know how they made it to the elevator, just that once in it Lucifer couldn’t keep his hands off him. Yes, he asked before doing anything new (“The devil does nothing without consent, my dear”) but he was simply all over, touching, teasing. Hardison was about three inches taller than Morningstar, and that made for some interesting moments, even just on that short trip in the elevator car.

He remembered them later, in pieces.

Lucifer’s lips on his throat as he worked on Hardison’s buttons. _The stubble wasn’t quite the right length to be Eliot’s._

Hardison’s hands limp around Morningstar’s waist as the other man made quick work of the buckle of his belt. _Smoother at it than Eliot would have been._

The heat of his hand as he slipped it just inside Hardison’s pants and cupped him gently. _Eliot would have used his other hand, because his right would have been-_

“Stop, darling. Focus on me. Quit comparing the two of us because we’ll never match up.”

Hardison groaned quietly into Lucifer’s mouth as he kissed and stroked him in synchronicity.

They finally broke apart as the elevator dinged.

“Come. Let me help you forget.”

And God, Hardison wanted to. For just a moment, he wanted desperately to forget the pain of losing his Eliot. _Their_ Eliot. So, when Lucifer took his hand and towed him into the penthouse, Hardison went.

Willingly.

*

Eliot lay on his side in the lee of a boulder. The rock offered the only protection in this pit. He had his limbs curled into knots around himself. The wounds in them from the nails- _from_ _the_   _nails_ , his mind echoed over and over- had healed slowly, but were finally closing. The other wounds-

His mind came to a full stop. His psyche wasn’t ready to go back there quite yet.

Physically he was doing better. That’s as far as he got.

And that _terrified_ him.

Because it meant that Bazitel would be back soon with new tortures.

 _Please don’t let her bring the others with her please don’t let her_ -

His mind kept that going on a loop. Eliot gave a breathy sigh that in anyone else would be called a whimper and wrapped his limbs more tightly around his body.

Soft fingers touched his hair, hair that he’d grown out for Parker and Hardison-

_Parker and Hardison_

-and Eliot flinched violently away from them.

“Easy now.” The oddly hissing words were now a perverse comfort; of all the beings that had tripped through here in the last... Days? Weeks? She was the only one who ever spoke to him more than grunting as they shoved-

A shiver wracked his entire body, pushing his head further into the comforting strokes of his torturer.

“Can you unwrap a bit for me? I have something I need to show you.”

Eliot shuddered and sniffed, telling himself that he was a grown-ass man and dammit, he better _act_ like one, before uncurling and looking up into the split face of his tormentor.

His savior.

Bazitel’s one green-white eye was the one that oddly showed the most emotion as he met her gaze.

“Good.” She waved her bone hand as she lifted his head to pillow it on her flesh leg. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but time moves differently in hell.” Eliot shuddered again at the last word, but said nothing. In the direction she’d waved her hand, a small square began to glow. “It’s also come to my attention that you still have hope in your heart. Your _lovers_.” There was distaste in Bazitel’s voice as she said the last word.

Eliot kept his mouth shut, but inside, his brain was screaming.

_Not Parker and Hardison, not Parker and Hardison, NOT-_

The screen was growing larger and more clear.

_NOT PARKER AND HARDISON, NOT-_

There was Hardison, necking with a tall, dark-haired white guy. Were they in an elevator? But then Hardison tipped his head back and even though Eliot couldn’t hear anything, he knew that look well. He’d put that look on Hardison’s face himself, many times before.

This time, the noise  _was_  a whimper.

Bazitel just kept stroking his hair.

“Oh, look, there’s the other one.”

Hardison and the unknown man were stepping out of the elevator into- Whose penthouse was that? One of Hardison’s? Sophie’s? It didn’t matter. Parker was sitting in a corner, very still. Just like-

Just like she’d used to watch him and Hardison, because she liked to watch before she joined in. If she joined in at all.

Parker stood up and-

Eliot closed his eyes and choked on a sob.

Bazitel just kept stroking his hair.

“I know it feels like you’ve been down here for months, but it’s only been five days since they buried your body. Twelve days since you died.”

Eliot felt a tear roll down his cheek as Bazitel made soft shushing noises. “See? They’ve moved on, Eliot Spencer. Rather quickly, too. There is no more hope.”

As Eliot gave into the heaving sobs, his heart broke.

And he _shattered_.

*

Lucifer had Alec just where he wanted him; panting and moaning and eager, backed up against the piano. Nipping at the man’s neck, he said,

“I feel I need a drink. Would you like one?”

Alec didn’t say anything, just nodded. Lucifer gave him one more hard, open mouthed kiss, then stepped around Alec to the alcohol behind the bar. He couldn’t help but grin at the way the man used his grip on the piano to stay standing.

Lucifer looked away from his bottles just in time to see a blonde woman, roughly the same build as the detective, walk up to Alec and take his head in her hands, bringing his forehead down to hers. Lucifer bristled slightly at the invasion of his territory, but kept his literal ruffled feathers under wraps. He simply grabbed a third glass and poured a generous measure in all of them.

“Parker, I presume?” She looked up, and Lucifer inhaled sharply. Not only was she built along the same lines as the detective, but honestly, the two could have convinced people they were sisters if they’d wanted.

The woman didn’t speak, but the possessive arm Alec had around her waist told him everything he needed to know. That and the way she seemed willing to be possessed by him. She, again like the detective, didn’t seem to be the type to be possessed unless she wanted to be.

“Am I to assume that our tête-à-tête is to become a ménage à trois?”

The woman; Parker, he was mostly certain of her identity at this point; didn’t move, but Alec’s spine stiffened.

“Do you simply prefer to _watch_ , darling? Or are you only here for moral support?”

She gently did up the buttons on Alec’s shirt, then pressed a light kiss to his cheek that the other man returned. Her resemblance to the detective, startling at first, faded as he looked more closely at her. Same type, but both unique.

“Technically,” and was that voice all business, “Technically we’re both here to get information from you.”

Alec was finishing securing his trousers, and Lucifer felt himself grow angry.

“I do not like being lied to, whomever the two of you are. Nor do I like being offered something just to have it taken away.” He pointed between the two of them with the hand that held his glass, then took a drink. “There’s a special place for liars in hell, I’ll have you know.”

Alec made a placating gesture. “We just wanted to ask you some questions in private. Given their... delicate nature, we decided that this would be the best course of action. And since you barely use technology except to hook up with someone, I couldn’t hack you that way. We needed to _physically_ hack you.”

“We’ve been watching you these past few days and realized the only time you were ever truly alone was when you brought someone up here.”

Where Alec still seemed to bleed sorrow from every pore, Parker was ice. Her emotions were completely locked down. Maybe there was some truth to their story, but Lucifer’s anger kept rising.

He really, _really_ didn’t like liars.

“Next time, maybe you should simply _ask_ to meet me in private!” As he slammed his glass down, he felt the ripple along his spine that even five years without he recognized as his wings unfurling.

But their faces weren’t shocked. They were barely startled. In fact, Parker looked grimly satisfied.

Lucifer shrugged to furl his wings back in. “Not that I’m complaining, because I hate the bloody things, but that’s the first time I’ve not had people drop to their knees in awe.”

“We figured.”

That one sentence from Parker relaxed Lucifer more than it should have. He took another sip from his glass and then passed the other two over the counter.

“So. What is it you needed to know?”

*

Hardison was still trying to catch his breath. It was hard, having that much attention focused on him at once. He threw back his entire drink in one swallow. When he set his glass back down on the counter, Morningstar obligingly filled it again.

“We need to know about Gloria Chapman.”

Thank God, his girl didn’t rattle easily. Hardison still didn’t know if he could coherently string two words together yet. The devil (and no matter what Parker said, he had been a bit awed by those wings. They’d just been expecting them) took another sip and hummed.

“Gloria Chapman. Wanted to find the person responsible for her father’s death. Wasn’t happy when it took me nearly a week to find someone who could give me that information.”

“James Sterling.” Hardison’s voice was rough. His semi-hard erection was slowly going down, but he was still breathing with difficulty.

Lucifer twitched his head slightly in a surprised nod. “Yes, actually. Fellow came to me trying to find his daughter. Told him I’d call in that favor one day.” He tsked. “That, and I still had a bone to pick with him in that other timeline, taking my moniker.” He took another sip and Hardison watched Parker’s eyebrow rise slightly in amusement. He’d never hear the end of her alternate universe theories now. “He gave me the information I needed, but only grudgingly. He seemed... fond, I guess would be the word, of the person he was giving me the information on. But he didn’t ask questions about why I _needed_ the information.”

Hardison clenched his jaw. “I’ll be telling him that, in the future, he _should_ ask.”

Lucifer looked affronted. “I would never use the information ill. I simply-”

“Gave it to a woman who wanted vengeance.” He didn’t think he’d ever heard Parker’s voice colder.

“ _Punishment_. She wanted to _punish_ the man who killed her father. I saw nothing wrong with that.”

“Except that her _punishment_ was a _bullet_ between the eyes in the middle of _our_ kitchen while he was _defenseless_.”

Hardison’s words seemed to stun Lucifer for half a moment.

“You mean to tell me that your paramour was Eliot Spen-”

Hardison reached across the small bar for Lucifer’s lapels, but Parker got there first. She slapped him, open handed and with all the strength that hanging from buildings for decades had given her arms.

Hardison was the one who spoke.

“He wasn’t our paramour.” His voice was as cold as Parker’s and even quieter. “He wasn’t our playmate or our _fuck buddy_ or even just our friend. He was our  _partner_.”

“Soulmate.” Parker added, as Lucifer lifted a hand to his mouth and wiped away the single drop of blood there.

“And with the detective on the other side of town.” His words were quiet, not meant for them. Not that they understood, but when Lucifer lifted his eyes, they were set, as was his jaw.

“Tell me about this Eliot Spencer of yours. Tell me everything.”

And Parker and Hardison did.

They told him about Eliot’s past, what he’d done; what they knew and what Eliot had only implied.

They told him about Eliot’s family, what little he’d shared.

How only one person other than _their_ family had come to his funeral, and not the one who mattered.

They told him about his time in the military.

They told him about Moreau.

About how Eliot never talked about what he’d done for him.

About what he’d done to take Moreau down.

They told him about Toby; how Toby had saved Eliot.

And how Eliot had saved Toby.

How Eliot had saved a lot of people over the last decade. How he’d saved them all.

With the one exception of Moreau’s men.

And Gloria Chapman’s father.

When they had wound down some hours later, they’d gone through two bottles of whiskey and a third of scotch. But most of that had been Lucifer. The three of them had migrated to the couch, Parker and Hardison on the long end and Morningstar on the other.

The former King of Hell stared deeply into his glass before draining it.

“It appears that I vastly misjudged Ms. Chapman and her brutality. She told me some of her story, you know, much of it true. But it seems now that she left an alarming amount out.”

Lucifer stood up in just his shirt and pants- his shoes and waistcoat having been divested of earlier- and stretched his arms above his head.

“I have to ask,” his voice was strained in mid-movement, “That ménage, still off the table?”

Parker just cocked one eyebrow. Hardison was too emotionally stripped to do much of anything.

“Ah, well then.” Lucifer settled himself. “It appears I have some errands to run. Do me a favor?”

Now Hardison tensed. Was he making a deal with the devil?

His Nana was _so_ going to disown him.

“Sleep.” Morningstar gestured to his bed. “I won’t be using it. And don’t worry,” he said as he caught the look Hardison’s face. “This favor will already be paid in full by tomorrow night. Book a late flight home. I’ll have Mazikeen return your vehicle.

“Sleep well, brave thieves. Things will turn out better on the morrow.”

*

Eliot sat, naked and cross legged on the warm stone of his little corner of the pit. He stared firmly at the ground, quaking a little.

Bazitel has told him to sit, and he would sit. She hadn’t needed to leave  _them_  in here too. He could see _them_ at the edges of his vision, shifting slightly. _They_ wouldn’t come near him unless he moved.

Eliot tried so hard not to move.

His breathing sped up a little as _they_ moved a little more. _They_ usually only acted this way when-

“There you are!” As if she hadn’t specifically sat him there and told him not to move. But he didn’t hate her.

Couldn’t hate her.  _They_  drifted away when Bazitel came near.

“Now, Eliot Spencer, today we begin-”

“I’m afraid that today he’s coming with me.”

It was a refined British voice, male and unquestionably In Charge. Eliot could hear it in his tone. This man did not like to be disobeyed. He hoped he wouldn’t give any orders that would countermand Bazitel’s. Eliot didn’t know if he’d be able to comply.

“Dear Baz, would you mind introducing us?”

“Of course, my lord.” Eliot was slightly startled to find Bazitel kneeling on her bone leg beside him, her head slightly bowed.

Who could cow the monsters?

Only the biggest monster of them all.

“My lord, this is the soul of Eliot Spencer. Pet, this is Lord Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell.”

Eliot couldn’t move. He hated that nickname, had since Moreau-

Bazitel stuck her bony elbow in his side, and Eliot flinched.

“ _Bow_  to your ruler, maggot.”

All he could really manage was a further dipping of his head.

Bazitel sighed. “My apologies, Lord. I’ve just figured out what his loop is to be. I haven’t yet had the time to teach-”

“Thank you, Baz, that will be all.”

Eliot quivered minutely. He didn’t like the way this was heading.

“But my Lord-”

“Are you _contradicting_ me, Bazitel?” The stone around them shook.

The demon next to him made no noise, but the shaking stopped so Eliot assumed she’d acquiesced.

“I didn’t think so. Your time will no longer be needed on this project. You may leave.”

Bazitel spoke once more. “But sir-”

“I gave you an _order_ , Baz. Take your abominations and go.”

There were shuffling noises around Eliot as _they_ moved. Bazitel was the last to leave, and he could tell she did so reluctantly.

Once they were alone in the cavern, Lucifer squatted down before him. Eliot tried to move himself back without looking like he was doing so. The King of Hell, the ruler of this nightmare, was bringing himself down to the level of a soul so unworthy that-

“Oh, no, you are not unworthy Eliot Spencer.” He flinched at the sound of his name, ringing with an authority that Bazitel never could have pulled off. “It is I who am unworthy of you. I don’t have a single being with a soul who would go against an archangel for me. You had two.”

Eliot did look up then, completely surprised. And then another shock hit him. “It’s you.” His voice cracked. It was only used to screaming, not speaking. He swallowed hard. “You and Har-” His voice caught again, this time on a swell of emotion. “In the elevator.”

“Ah, so Baz showed you that, did she? Well, not to worry, it was all a bloody trick to get me in the penthouse alone to track down who’d killed you.”

Eliot’s ears were ringing. He couldn’t have heard that correctly, could he? “It was a _con_?”

Lucifer nodded. “A shagging good one too.”

Slowly, Eliot shook his head, his eyes wide. “I-I don’t believe you.”

Lucifer sighed, then waved his hand, just as Bazitel had. This time, when Eliot saw his partners, he wanted to cry with joy. It was Parker and Hardison alright, and he could see that they were waiting in a terminal for a plane to Portland. Hardison’s laptop was up and running, and Eliot could see the search for Chapman’s daughter on the screen.

Lucifer was watching his face very carefully. The moment Eliot felt his features soften, the devil reached out and gripped his shoulder.

“Hold  _tight_  to that feeling, Eliot Spencer. Hold tight and close your eyes.”

Eliot did so, even as Lucifer’s grip on his shoulder tightened further and began to burn.

“Don’t open your eyes until I tell you or this could end very, very badly.”

The seed of hope buried deep inside Eliot’s heart began to wiggle and grow as the heat spread from his shoulder into his torso.

“Scream if you have to, because I bloody well will. Normally you can only do this with a fresh body you know; this is a little trick I picked up from one of my brothers-”

Some small part of Eliot’s brain realized that the fallen angel was babbling. He was nervous.

Well, he had nothing on Eliot.

“I am going to apologize for your arrival, but it is quite _literally_ the best I can do.”

Slowly, the heat was becoming unbearable. But Eliot wasn’t going to scream, he wasn’t.

He did, in the end.

And then he couldn’t.

*

As Parker opened the door to the rooms behind the brew pub, she was fiercely and forcibly reminded of the day Eliot had died. She swallowed down her grief- what an odd new emotion, that- and reached her hand for the light switch.

She paused with her hand a breath from it.

“What is it?” Hardison had gone still beside her.

“I don’t know. But something’s different.”

This ability, the boys called it, that she had of knowing the way a room felt when it was empty versus the way it felt when it had people (or lasers) in it had saved her, repeatedly. And this room that should have been empty definitely had a presence in it now.

Parker removed her hand from the switch and pulled a penlight from her pocket. She flicked that on and began to slowly pan it across the back room. There was nothing on or under the stairs, nothing in front of the desk except-

Was that dirt? Cat quiet, Parker stepped forward and bent down to touch it, and yes that was dirt. Fresh dirt too.

There was a soft breath to her right. Hardison was behind and to her left which meant-

She panned the light over very quickly and into startled blue-gray eyes that quickly shut as the person hissed. Parker froze and felt her breath catch in her throat. When she spoke, it came out barely above a whisper.

“ _Eliot_?”

Hardison flipped the light switch as Parker’s penlight dropped from nerveless fingers. Eliot- it had to be Eliot- hissed again and buried his face in his knees, arms protectively over his head. He was absolutely _filthy_ , and still in the clothes they’d had him buried in; nice jeans, his good boots, and his favorite red and brown plaid.

He curled himself into a tighter ball as Parker reached a hand out to him. He was muttering something she couldn’t quite make out...

“Hardison, turn the lights off and get a candle.”

“What-”

“He keeps saying, “Bright, too bright.” Turn them off.”

He did, and Parker heard a relieved sigh from Eliot. They sat in the dark for a moment as Hardison rummaged through their power outage supplies and managed to light two of their big pillar candles. He set them both on top of the desk Eliot was hiding behind, then dropped down on the floor next to them.

As their eyes adjusted to the gloom, they saw Eliot slowly raise his head and blink at them, as if he couldn’t believe they were real. Parker watched as he reached out a shaky hand towards hers, then quickly snatch it back to himself as if afraid she’d dissolve if he touched her.

Hardison spoke first, his voice quiet.

“My hands looked like that when I was buried in that coffin. Scratched and bloody from digging through the wood.” Out of the corner of her eye, Parker saw the edge of his mouth twitch in a grim smile. “You did better than I did, though. Dug yourself all the way out, didn’t you?”

Parker saw Eliot stop shaking.

“I-” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard. “I did good?”

“Yeah, baby. You did _real_ good.”

Eliot shuddered and sighed, and in the light of the candles Parker saw a single tear slide down his cheek. Hardison opened his arms and Eliot crawled into his lap, sobs soaking Hardison’s shoulder. Alec wrapped his arms around the shorter man, rocking back and forth gently and shushing him.

“Easy baby, it’s ok. We’ve got you now. Shh.” As Hardison pet his hair and pressed a kiss to Eliot’s forehead, Parker stood slowly and moved to the desk. She’d seen something there when Hardison had placed the candles down.

It was a square of parchment with curling calligraphy words on it.

It simply said,

_Paid in Full_

_-LM_

.0.0.0.

“Lucifer, question.”

Lucifer sighed. He was never going to get a chance to finish this drink, would he? First the detective calls about some case, then Amenadiel calling about “ _I know that flash, Luci. There was an archangel in Portland!_ ” And now Maze. Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

“Mazikeen, I’ve a bit of a headache-”

“Exactly. You shouldn’t _have_ a headache because Decker is at our apartment. Were you messing around with Hell?”

“I’m afraid I was, rather briefly, but it’s worn both me and my patience out. So, if I could please-”

“What were you doing?”

“Returning a soul that never should have gone there and hoping to Dad that he’s strong enough to survive.”

Maze stopped in the middle of her walk towards him.

“You put a soul back? In its original host? How-”

“Something Cas showed me several years back. It can only be done once in a century or so, and only under very specific conditions.” He sighed and raised his glass to his lips. “And it takes a bloody lot out of you.”

He actually managed to take a drink this time before Maze spoke.

“ _Why_ would _you_ put  _any_  soul back?”

Lucifer swirled his glass, staring into the amber depths. “Because it was the right thing to do. And it was my fault he was there in the first place.”

He tipped his glass back and finished his drink.

“And I think he actually might make it.”


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, anything sexual has been implied. This chapter gets explicit. If you'd like to skip it (as the story make sense without it) stop reading after "Eliot practically floated home" after he wins the fight. Start reading again at "He fell back into his body slowly". You'll miss a great deal of words (cause I can write smut, yes I can) but nothing vital. The scene you pick up in does have some post-coital snuggles and feels, but nothing really explicit except for some practical cleaning. And it's not gross but is plot-relevant.

Hardison was stunned. He had a lap full of Eliot Spencer, something he’d never thought to have again, and Eliot was weeping. The man made _priests_ look like rave-goers. Stoic was his middle name. The fact that he was sobbing into Hardison’s shoulder frightened him a little. He kept one arm wrapped around Eliot’s body, the other stroked his hair, brushing the dirt away from his eyes. Hardison slowly rubbed his back, crooning to him like his Nana used to do when they were kids and someone got sick. It wouldn’t make anything better, but it was comforting.

Parker’s hand brushed his shoulder. “I’m going to start a shower,” she whispered. “That way we can get him cleaned up a little better.” Hardison nodded, but as she turned to walk away, Eliot’s hand shot out and gently took her wrist.

“Please.” His voice was craggy. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Easy baby.” Hardison kept rubbing his back. “She’s just going to start the water in the tub so it’s not icy when you get in.”

Eliot hesitated, and then Parker dropped into a squat just in front of them.

“Eliot, I promise I’ll be back just as soon as I start the water. I’ll come back, and then neither Hardison or I will leave your sight.” She reached out with her free hand and gently touched his cheek. “I keep feeling like you’re going to disappear again too.”

Eliot gave a shuddering sigh and dropped her hand, curling back into Hardison’s embrace. Parker let her gaze run over him quickly, before meeting Hardison’s eyes.

Her look said _don’t you dare lose him_.

Hardison’s said _not on your life_.

She rose in a fluid motion and walked off quickly to their renovated bathroom that held the tub large enough for three.

Hardison sighed deeply before he spoke. “As much as I love having you in my lap, baby, I can’t carry you. You’re too damn heavy.” Eliot’s response was to clutch him tighter. “Easy baby. I’m not saying you have to let go, but you’re gonna have to stand up and walk, ok?” He felt Eliot nod against his shoulder.

Parker walked back over to their emergency supplies and grabbed a couple more candles, lighting them from the ones he’d already lit.

“Count of three, we’re gonna stand up, ok?”

“Do I hafta?”

Hardison’s laugh sounded wet. “No baby, we don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do. We’ll let the tub overflow if you want.

“But I think you’d be a bit more comfortable if we got you clean, yeah?”

“... Yeah.”

“So, count of three?”

Eliot sighed, his sobs having slowed to the occasional hiccup. “Yeah.”

“Alright.” Hardison slid Eliot gently to one side and got one knee under himself. “One, two, three-”

Parker got one hand under his elbow and helped him pull himself and Eliot to their feet. They wobbled for a moment, the candle flames flickering dangerously, but then Eliot’s arms were wrapped around Hardison’s waist and he could see Parker’s free hand on Eliot’s back.

It was a long, slow trek to the bathroom, and Eliot was shedding dirt every step of the way, but by the time they made it the tub was still only a third full. Steam rose gently from the top.

Eliot stopped and started shaking again.

“Cou-could we may-maybe turn it down a little?” The stutter in his words nearly broke Hardison’s barely healed heart.

“Sure baby, whatever you want.” He dropped another kiss on Eliot’s head as Parker placed the candles on the counter and turned the water down.

“Th-thanks.”

“Anytime.” Hardison hugged him around the shoulder. “We’re gonna get those clothes off now and- Hey hey now, easy Eliot.” The shaking that had eased redoubled. “What’s wrong?”

Eliot just shook his head.

“Okay, 20 questions it is. Is it the bath?”

Head shake no.

“Me and Parker staying?” He didn’t think so, but he had to ask. Another shake.

“Your clothes?”

Tentative nod this time.

“Okay. We can get in fully clothed if you want, but I gotta tell you I need to take my phone out of my pocket if we do.”

An even more tentative shake no.

“So you don’t want to get in fully clothed, but you don’t want to be naked either?”

Hardison’s heart definitely cracked a little as Eliot nodded yes.

“Underwear ok?” Another nod. “And it’s not me and Parker, for sure?” A nod. “Okay.”

Hardison sent Parker a gentle look and she started pulling her shirt over her head, very businesslike. A small smile touched his lips as he was reminded of a great many elevator quick changes. “Baby, Parker is gonna hold you while I undress, and then we’ll both help you, Okay?”

One last nod.

“Okay. Parker, honey, can you come here?”

And bless her, she used her words. “Sure.”

Hardison handed a very clingy Eliot off to her, and damn, he never thought he’d say the words “clingy” and “Eliot” together. Even in bed, he liked to sleep on the outside with his back to them. And while they loved the fact that he trusted them at his back, Hardison knew that at least  _he_  wouldn’t mind cuddles every now and again.

He quickly stripped down to his boxers, then stepped over to his guy and his girl. Going down on one knee, he touched Eliot’s hand.

“I’m gonna do your boots first, ok? Then Parker is gonna get your shirt and I’ll handle your pants and belt.” Eliot squeezed his hand and nodded.

As they slowly undressed him, Eliot’s shivers grew stronger. Hardison pressed his head to his stomach as he stood, then paused.

He knew all of the scars on Eliot’s body intimately. And that one was new. Well, not  _new_ -new, it was barely visible, but it most definitely hadn’t been there when he’d-

When he’d died. And then there was his left shoulder...

That handprint was blistered and burned into his flesh, making it bubble oddly. Eliot hissed whenever they accidentally brushed it.

Hardison took Eliot’s face in his hands with a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Eliot wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Baby, look at me please.”

Slowly those blue-gray eyes, glowing in the flickering candlelight raised to meet his.

“You weren’t in heaven or purgatory, were you?”

Eliot took a deep breath and slowly shook his head no. Hardison closed his eyes and brought his forehead down to his, feeling Parker wrap around Eliot in a hug from behind.

“Oh, sweetie... I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” Eliot gently wrapped a hand around his wrist. “Don’t apologize. I made my peace with going to H-hell years ago. You’re the ones who got me out.” Hardison’s eyes opened and met his. “You got me out. Thank you.”

Hardison nodded and kissed his cheek, then stepped back and helped both of them in. As tepid as the water now was, Eliot still hissed like it was just three degrees from boiling.

They got him in though and started getting him clean. Eliot sat on Hardison’s lap the entire time, watching his dark hands against the tawny skin of his abs. Parker delicately washed and combed his hair, and then was the first one out prepping towels. Hardison hit the stopper with his foot, then helped Eliot to stand and get out of the tub.

“Can we get these wet things off you? I swear on my Nana, all we’re gonna do is take them off and get you dry.” He added as Eliot’s finally relaxed posture stiffened again.

There was a pause, and then Eliot nodded, but he seemed unsure.

“You want one of us to leave while the other takes care of it?” He shook no. “Okay. We’re gonna do this quickly, then.”

Gently, oh so gently, Hardison gripped the waistband of Eliot’s briefs and slid them down his thighs. As soon as he had them to his ankles, Parker stepped in with a towel and wrapped it snuggly around Eliot. She’d already taken off her sports bra and panties, donning the overlarge T-shirt (one of Eliot’s she’d lifted years back) in their place.

“Parker is gonna take a candle and get you set up in clean PJs while I take just a minute in here to clean up the worst of this and change, okay?”

Eliot swallowed hard but nodded. Hardison tucked a damp strand of hair behind his ear and cupped his cheek. “I love you baby. I’ll be right in.”

And God, he wished he was imagining the grateful look in those eyes when he said those words.

Parker led a quietly pliant Eliot out of the bathroom and Hardison braced his hands on the sink. He couldn’t imagine what had happened to Eliot in Hell, but he’d seen the way he’d been acting. He was just like one of the girls Nana had taken in a few years after him. He and the other kids, they’d never heard anything solid, but rumor often said she’d been sexually abused by one if not both of her guardians.

Eliot had the same twitchy reactions she’d had, a very similar haunted look in her eyes.

She’d killed herself at her next foster home.

He wasn’t gonna let Eliot be like her. Him and Parker,  _they_  wouldn’t let him.

*

Parker has mostly stayed quiet after finding Eliot on the floor of their place. She couldn’t guess how he’d managed to get in, or how he’d managed to get there from the cemetery three miles away. But as she dried him off, her mind was whirling on how to spin this. They’d called the _cops_. He’d been  _autopsied._ They needed to figure out a cover up, and fast.

Her mind flicked to Sterling. He was perfect; Interpol hardly ever played nice with the local LEOs. If anyone could convince them it had all been an act, it’d be him. Besides, now he owed them, even if he didn’t know it yet.

And if that didn’t work, she could always bribe the other officials. She didn’t like dipping into her money for anything, but she wanted Eliot more than she wanted money. She’d leaned that much in recent years.

Sitting Eliot down on the edge of the bed, Parker pulled out the softest things of his she’d lifted, finally returning them to Eliot. Parker hadn’t been able to wear them since what she had now in her mind termed The Incident. Tentatively, she touched his elbow, trying not to react when he flinched.

“Do you want to put these on yourself, or do you want me to help?”

Slowly, as if he was scared she would strike at him, Eliot reached his hand out and carefully took the clothes she offered him. She let him not answer as he pulled on the old sweats, leaving the shirt off for now, not saying anything either as she sat on the bed beside him.

Alec came in then, wearing the sweatpants and shirt she’d left out for him in the bathroom. With how Eliot had behaved when they were simply trying to get him clean, she didn’t think that their normal half-dressed sleepwear would have been appropriate. Hardison also had the first aid kit in his hand.

Carefully, the way he handled delicate electronics or she handled old locks, he took the damp towel from around Eliot’s neck, where it had covered the blistered handprint on his left shoulder. Hardison opened the giant tackle box that was their first aid kit and pulled out the burn ointment.

“I dunno if that’ll work.” She and Hardison both looked at Eliot, slightly surprised that he’d spoken. “It’s a, ah...”

“Lucifer left it, when he pulled you out.” The surprised looks shifted to her. Parker shrugged. “He left a note.”

“Well, divine or unholy, it can’t make it worse.” Hardison’s words belied his calm exterior. But his hands were gentle as he dabbed the cream onto Eliot’s shoulder, pausing whenever he flinched. By the time they had a bandage on, Parker’s hand was cramping where Eliot was gripping it and his hair was mostly dry. Hardison helped him maneuver into his shirt, then slid to his knees on the floor before Eliot. Parker saw something in Eliot’s eyes that made her get that wiggly feeling back in her stomach.

“H-Hardison, what’re you doin’-”

“You were  _dead_ , Eliot. We buried you.” Hardison swallowed, and seeing the tears in his eyes made Parker’s well up too. “We, we finally  _found_  you, found _us_ ; we had you for _years_ and then we  _lost_  you and we  _buried_  you. And now we have you _back_.” He reached up and went to lay his hand against Eliot’s face, then stopped with it a hairsbreadth from his cheek.

Part of Parker went a little crumbly inside when Eliot didn’t lean his face into the touch like he used to do. Hardison allowed his left hand fall to Eliot’s right, gently picking it up and examining the torn skin and nails there.

“These should have been cleaned in the tub, but is it ok if I clean them again and bandage them?”

Even Parker could hear the emotion in his voice as he said that. She really  _had_  been getting better at emotions over the years, really. But I’m the last two weeks her entire life had been turned upside down, _twice_. She’d shut down a little. She just needed to get back in practice.

Slowly Eliot nodded, watching as again Alec took great care and gentleness in putting healing goo on his wounds. Parker watched his hands too, but not because she was wary. She watched him carefully trace a finger over scars, scars that hadn’t been there two weeks ago. And she got angry again, angry that someone had taken Eliot from them.

They would, all three of them, have their revenge.

That was their business, after all. Using their leverage to help get people revenge. This time, the people just happened to be themselves.

*

_Running._

_He was running._

_Heaving._

_Gasping._

_Trying to breathe._

_He couldn’t hear himself._

_Couldn’t see anything._

_But he knew this pace would kill him._

_Run._

_Can’t stop._

They’ll  _get you if you do._

_Not running._

_Can’t get away._

_Fight._

_Can’t fight._

_Arms won’t move._

_Stuck._

_Wanna scream._

_Can’t scream._

_“Scream for me, Eliot Spencer. Scream, Eliot-”_

“Eliot, baby, _please_ wake up.”

He sat bolt upright in bed, eyes still unseeing. He scooted as far back in the bed as he could, trying to get a wall-  _glowing red stone-_  at his back. He still couldn’t catch his breath.

“Eliot, sweetie, it’s us. Please, baby, you need to stop holding your breath. You’re gonna pass out.”

He _wasn’t_ holding his breath. He couldn’t _get_ enough damn air _in_. He wasn’t _holding_ his damn _breath_!

Was he?

Carefully, he let out a bit of air and took a tiny bit in.

“Good job, baby. Do it again?”

Another tiny breath out, another one in.

“Good. Can you do one a bit deeper this time?”

Slowly, Eliot managed to become aware of his surroundings. Not rock, no demons, no  _things_ , just Hardison and their bed. Wait-

“P-Parker?”

“She’s in the other room, honey. She needed to start working on making you legally… _alive_ , again.”

“I’ve left five messages for Sterling and he still hasn’t called me back.”

Eliot’s world finally came into complete focus as Parker tucked one knee under herself and sat on the bed.

“Babe, I told you, it’s one in the morning here, which means it’s four am at the DC Interpol offices. He’ll answer when he gets in to work.” Eliot couldn’t help the flinch he gave when Hardison’s voice grew cold. “He better or I’ll screw with his filing system again.”

“St-Sterling?” Hardison’s jaw clenched, and a tic worked in his cheek.

“It’s a long story, baby, but the short version is he gave the info Gloria Chapman needed to find you to Lucifer. He owes us. Big time.”

Eliot’s breathing got a hair faster. _Sterling_ had- Lucifer _gave_ \- Chapman?

“Suffice to say, he’s gonna help us cover up the fact that you were ever dead.” A dark blush stained Hardison’s cheeks a slight reddish color. “We kind of... panicked when we...”

“When we got home and found you two weeks ago. We actually called the cops.”

Eliot looked to Parker through the fall of his hair.

“They collected evidence and took your body to the morgue. If Sterling isn’t enough for the ME, we’re going to need to bribe her.” This last she said to Hardison.

He nodded, then turned back to Eliot.

“You got about twenty-four hours of sleep. Do you want to try for some more, or would you rather come out in the main room with us?”

Eliot stared. He’d only lost two weeks to Hell, but down there it had felt like _months_. He hadn’t been given a _choice_ in months. And now he was being _given_ choices left and right?

It was making his head spin.

“Don’t worry baby, just keep breathing please. All you have to do is nod or shake your head, ok? Like the other night in the tub?”

Slowly, Eliot nodded.

“You want us to stay with you?”

He gave another slow nod.

“Okay. We need to go out in the main room and get things rolling on some hacking and stuff. Do you want us to get you set up out there?”

He nodded again. But when Hardison reached for his arm, Eliot pulled back. He didn’t even really know why, he just knew that he didn’t want to be touched right now.

That was a lie. He knew why. And he knew that Parker and Hardison would never do something like that, but he just really did _not_ want to be touched. He tried to ignore the hurt he could sense coming from Hardison, but it was difficult.

Hardison changed his movement from reaching for Eliot’s arm to grabbing blankets and a pillow.

“Babe, can you pull that old couch over to the com center? We’ll get Eliot set up on that while we get working.”

Eliot trailed after them as they walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He curled up on a corner of the couch they moved for him, tucking himself in as small as he could make himself. Hardison hesitated, then piled the blanket and pillow on the couch next to him, making every effort to avoid accidentally touching Eliot. He watched him and Parker warily, unused to movement around him not being intended to hurt.

Carefully, he pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, covering as much of himself as he could.

Despite his best efforts, Eliot fell back asleep to the comforting noise of Hardison’s fingers clicking on the keys of his keyboard, and Parker crunching quietly on her cereal.

*

They finally got through to Sterling on video call about three hours later.

To say he was not amused to hear from them was a vast understatement.

_“Alec Hardison and Parker. To what do I owe this displeasure? Why have you been calling me since three in the bloody morning? What are you two doing?”_

It took a lot of effort for Hardison to keep from sneering. “Not revealing the location of my friendly enemy to a killer, that’s for sure.”

He saw Sterling take in that information, then calculate the best response.

 _“I had heard about Spencer, and I apologize for your loss. But surely you can’t expect me to believe that you blame_ me _for that unfortunate mess.”_

He did sneer this time. “You sold him out to Lucifer Morningstar, Sterling. Now, we don’t give a _damn_ why you owed the Devil, but we care about Eliot. Why’d you give him up? We knew that you’d come after us if you could, but you always _respected_ us, at least.”

_“If this is about me not coming up for his funeral-”_

“This is about you paying us back for getting him killed.”

_“It wasn’t my fault-”_

“This isn’t about fault,” Parker interjected. “This is about _you_ helping _us_ take care of paperwork.”

_“What do you mean, paperwork?”_

Hardison shifted slightly, revealing Eliot sleeping on the couch behind them. Sterling’s eyes grew large and surprised.

 _“You_ stole _his body?!”_

Parker gave him a disgusted look. “No. That’s not his body. That’s _him_ , Sterling. He’s back. You don’t believe us, call Lucifer. He’s probably still awake, though you may interrupt him if he’s got company.”

Sterling just stared at them, mouth slightly ajar. Hardison didn’t think he’d ever seen the man this stunned before. Sterling finally cleared his throat.

 _“I didn’t really think that Morningstar was the Devil, but after he helped me find Olivia I wasn’t going to question him too closely.”_ He shifted in his chair and Hardison noticed that Sterling hadn’t taken his eyes off the sleeping Eliot. _“I will say I didn’t know why he wanted the intel.”_

“In the future, you should really ask why someone wants to know something before you give it to them.”

Sterling’s glare at Parker had Hardison’s hackles rising. But his girl held her own.

“Stuff it, Sterling. Since this was partly your fault, we’re going to need your help getting him back alive again.”

_“Is he or is he not sitting on that couch right now?”_

The man’s exasperation was almost funny.

“He is, but we need your help as an Interpol agent. You _know_ there was a police investigation. We just need you to swoop in and do your thing where you take over the investigation from the locals.”

_“Interpol doesn’t-”_

“Interpol may not, but we need you, unfortunately.” Hardison spoke over the tail end of Sterling’s sentence. “I can always just hack your systems and put in the paperwork myself, but the cops know our faces. We need an undercover OP to explain away the dead body they hauled out of here and autopsied.”

_“I am not going to be bullied by-”_

“Sterling.” Hardison and Parker spun in their seats to face Eliot as he spoke. “You ever get shot? Even with a vest? Black out for a minute?” His eyes were hollow. “Have that moment where they say your life is supposed to flash before your eyes?”

Sterling’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything.

“It doesn’t, you know.” Eliot shifted under his blankets, and Hardison desperately wanted to go over and wrap him up in his arms, but given his reaction to the attempted embrace earlier, he didn’t want to risk it. “Your body feels like it’s falling. Falling farther and farther. And then you stop. There’s no impact. You just stop. And then-”

He cleared his throat and shifted again uncomfortably, revealing the bandages on his hands. “Then you’re in Hell. If you’re lucky, they stick you in your cell right away. If not…” he swallowed. “If not, what happens has nothing on the worst things you’ve ever seen one human being do to another.”

 _“Why should I believe anything you three say?”_ Sterling’s voice was harsh and his glare suspicious. But Hardison could see apprehension in his eyes.

Eliot flexed his jaw, then stood slowly and placed his blanket on the couch. He hesitated, then crossed his arms and lifted his shirt over his head. Hardison sucked in a breath. He’d known Eliot had come back with more scars than he’d left with, but this was his first time seeing the extent of them in full light.

It made him want to weep. And when Eliot walked forward to get closer to the webcam, Hardison’s jaw went slack. His back was absolutely _covered_ in scars. It looked as if someone had meticulously taken a giant grater to his it. Over and over.

Eliot peeled off the bandage that Hardison had meticulously placed on his shoulder the previous night.

“I don’t know if you believe in Heaven, Hell, God or Satan. But I don’t know anything on earth that could make this kind of a burn on a human being.” He swallowed hard. “And I’d know, Sterling. I’d know.”

Sterling narrowed his eyes on them, not saying anything for a moment. Then,  _“It just so happens I’m needed on the west coast for a bit. I’ll be out there in two days.”_

“Thank you, Sterling.” Eliot stepped back to the couch.

“Knock first this time, k?” Sterling grimaced at Hardison’s last comment, bringing to mind the time last year when he’d walked in on the three of them in all their glory.

Then he hung up. Hardison let out a long breath and turned to Eliot, fondly remembering that time because he’d nearly torn Sterling’s head off. Literally.

But his smile faded when he saw Eliot shaking as he sat back down on the couch. Hardison looked to Parker, her eyes sending him the same message.

They needed to find a way to help Eliot, and fast.

0.o.0.o.0

Sterling stayed for a week and a half, fraying everyone’s nerves and making Eliot jumpier than oil in one of his skillets-which he still hadn’t touched-when he wasn’t sleeping, that is.

He slept a lot.

Five days after Sterling left, leaving behind some very confused detectives and one extremely pissed off coroner, there was a loud series of bangs on the back door to the space behind the pub.

Eliot, thankfully, was already upstairs and didn’t hear Hardison’s curse when he pulled up the security video and saw Quinn on the monitor. He activated the intercom.

“What do you want, Quinn?”

When the man looked up at the camera, Hardison was shocked to see- was that grief on his face?

“I heard about Spencer. Can I come in?”

Hardison sat there a moment, finger running over the button to release the lock on the back door for a long moment. He watched Quinn’s face. His emotions didn’t change. He didn’t blink, didn’t back down, but there was something in his eyes…

Just as Quinn sighed and started to turn away, Hardison pressed the button. A long buzz sounded and Hardison swore he heard Quinn mutter a thank you under his breath as he pushed the door open. He stood as the other man walked into the back room of the brew pub. He watched Quinn sweep the room with his eyes twice, once checking for dangers and once to take in the actual room.

He’d seen Eliot do that before in a new environment. It was a mark of someone who expected an attacker to fight or flee from at any moment.

“Nice digs.”

Quinn was wearing his typical suit pants and jacket with a button-down shirt-no tie because you didn’t want someone to strangle you with it-in a series of different charcoal gray tones. He fidgeted with his cuffs, and Hardison knew that no hitter worth his salt would twitch like that without either a really good reason or really rough emotion.

“Why are you here, Quinn?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, and Hardison was so forcefully reminded of Eliot that it took him a minute to remember that Eliot was upstairs and safe, shoving the half-second of agony that he was gone back where it had come from.

He was still dealing with this whole lose-him-forever-and-get-him-back-two-weeks-later thing. It was making his head start to spin, especially because Eliot wouldn’t let them touch him and make sure he was real-

“I heard about it from some hitter online, bragging that she’d killed the infamous Eliot Spencer. I didn’t believe her, but then I checked the police records-” Quinn stopped, sighing as he looked up at Hardison. “I came in case you guys needed someone to cover for a bit. I can’t stay long, but I owed Spencer a favor. I figure if he can’t collect, I might as well make it up to the people he cared about.”

Hardison looked at him for a minute, really looked. Quinn had been the only person in the retrieval business that Eliot had ever considered close to being a friend. Quinn was hurting. He might be trying damn hard not to show it, but he was. Hardison sighed, lifting a hand and running it over the back of his neck.

If Parker ever found out he’d done this on purpose-

He wasn’t gonna go there.

“I need to show you something, and then you’re gonna sit and not talk while I try and explain.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing while Hardison led him up the stairs. He stopped just outside the cracked door to the bedroom, peering in.

Eliot was asleep, twisted in the sheets and facing the door; the mark seared into his shoulder was still just as angry as it had been that first night, barely changed even after two weeks. His brow was furrowed even in his sleep. Again. Hardison reminded himself for the eight hundredth time that the man had just died and come back. He was allowed recovery time. But in the last weeks all he’d done was sleep.

He hadn’t even tried to punch Sterling in the face.

Hardison was starting to hope that maybe Quinn could help them fix this _wrongness_.

Carefully, he held a finger to his lips and stepped aside, gesturing Quinn to the door. He peered in, went pale, then pulled back and looked at Hardison, mouth dropping open to ask a question. Hardison repeated his finger to the lips move, then turned and headed down the steps again.

Thankfully, after a very short pause, he heard Quinn’s footsteps on the stairs behind him.

Hardison was impressed with Quinn’s control; he waited to punch the wall until they were both downstairs and on the opposite side of the room from the bedroom.

“You’ll fix that hole before you go, right?”

Quinn shrugged, rolling his shoulders back. “Yeah. How-?”

“You probably wanna sit down for this.”

He did eventually sit, partially in shock and partially in disbelief, on seeing the photo evidence Hardison had gathered and hearing the tale of the last month.

“I mean, I honestly didn’t figure Hell existed, but I’ve been close to dead enough times to have gotten a taste. I always just thought it was my body reacting to the pain I was in.” Quinn’s hair was in disarray where he’d pulled his sandy curls out of their tight ponytail.

“Well, don’t take my word for it. I just got dazzled by heavenly wings. The only word we have on Hell is Eliot’s and Morningstar’s.”

“Well, I for one believe them.”

“Good,” Hardison said, rounding on Quinn. “Now here’s how  _you’re_  gonna help Eliot.”

*

Eliot woke with a start, his heart rate a mile a minute, instantly coming to a sitting position with his hands up, ready to protect himself from whatever had woken him.

“Glad to see your reflexes haven’t dulled.”

He sighed, exasperated, and let his hands fall. “Quinn. Who let you in?”

“Your boyfriend, apparently.” The other man dropped his legs from their crossed position and sat up in the armchair. “You kept that little tidbit to yourself.”

Eliot winced, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, his sweats pulling up over his ankles.

“Not something I much talk about. Him or Parker.”

“Huh. I’d’a never guessed.” Quinn picked up a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top from the ground next to his chair and tossed them at Eliot. “Get dressed. We start in twenty.”

With that, he stood and quit the room, undoing the top buttons on his shirt as he went.

Eliot stared after him, jaw hanging.

“Start  _what_?”

0.o.0.o.0

Torture, that was what.

Oh, not  _real_  torture, not nearly what he’d had in the pit, but what he’d have called torture back before. Quinn had driven him to a warehouse near the Portland docks, to a near illegal gym a lot of the shady characters like he used to be-and come on, still was-trained at. They didn’t report things like knife wounds when someone fought, and their first aid kit came with a doctor someone had on payroll.

The room slowly went silent as the thugs inside realized who Eliot was. Two slipped out of bolt holes in the back. Quinn just led him over to the boxing ring, taking off his suit jacket as he did so.

He didn’t even have to tell the occupants to leave; Eliot saw their eyes widen at the still raw handprint on his shoulder and they ducked out with all due haste. It had started healing a little on its own a few days ago, but it was still bubbly and red.

“We never did get to finish that fight back in LA,” Quinn said, slipping off his fancy Italian leather shoes before stepping into the ring barefoot.

“As I recall, it most certainly did; it ended with you unconscious in that hanger.”

Quinn rolled his shoulders and bounced up and down on his toes briefly, before waving Eliot into the ring.

“Prove it,” was all he said.

Eliot snorted. “I ain’t gonna fight you in that stupid outfit.”

“Get in the ring, Spencer. Bare hands, bare feet. You and me, till one of us goes down and stays that way.”

Eliot narrowed his eyes. “Where is Hardison? Parker? Did you do something to them?”

Quinn sighed. “If I say yes will it get your ass in the ring?”

The flippancy in his tone told Eliot that Quinn hadn’t done anything to them, but it wasn’t reassuring. Still, he got in the ring.

Quinn’s first strike came out of nowhere. Eliot ducked back, his nose barely missing the fist aimed there. It was a feint, though, and Quinn’s shin caught him across the ribs, temporarily pushing all the air out of his lungs. He staggered back against the ropes, unable to avoid Quinn’s fist this time.

“C’mon, Spencer!” Quinn’s voice echoed in the eerily quiet gym. “Is this what Morningstar brought back? Someone who falls at the first sign of pain?” Stars danced in Eliot’s vision as he attempted to remain upright from his grip on the sagging lines. He could hear his own harsh panting reverberate against his skull.

“Get. UP!” Quinn’s shin cracked across the backs of his thighs, propelling him forward. Using the momentum, he staggered upright.

“Hands up. Defend yourself, goddammit!” Fist to the solar plexus, leaving him gasping again. “Useless. Useless!”

Quinn played dirty then.

He wrapped his fist into Eliot’s hair, yanking his head back, and got right in his face. He kept his voice low, and it was only later that Eliot realized Quinn had known what kind of reaction he’d have.

“Puss enough to take it in the pit, huh?” A strongly muscled thigh pressed _hard_ against his groin. “I bet you just laid there and took it. Wonder if your pretty boyfriend would mind if I made a move. Bet he wants someone more _assertive_ in bed. And Parker, well-”

Quinn staggered back before Eliot had even realized his body was moving. The shots to his manhood, he could take. But drag Hardison or Parker into it and you’d best lie down. It’d hurt less when the elephant of his rage took you down.

He’d headbutted Quinn in the face, then straight-armed the edge of his hand into Quinn’s throat.

The idiot had the nerve to laugh as he wheezed out his next words.

“Just thinking about their sweet little asses makes me wanna-”

Eliot never found out. Scarlet rage descended over his vision. His body became a series of weapons, using practiced movements he’d perfected over decades. Knee to the stomach, step away from the vomit. Elbow to the side of the head-would have been the neck if Quinn hadn’t dodged at the last possible second-fist to the kidneys.

His foot would have come down and shattered Quinn’s right hand if something hadn’t slid into his mind.

He wasn’t this person. Not anymore. Hadn’t been since he’d left Moreau.

Eliot wasn’t going to let the pit turn him _back_ into that person.

Instead of shattering the bones of Quinn’s hand, Eliot instead stepped back and held out his own. For the first time since the night he’d come back, he willingly touched another human being in, if not friendship, then at least comraderie.

Eventually, Quinn took his hand and allowed Eliot to lever him up. Perfunctorily, Eliot straightened Quinn’s shirt and dusted him off.

“A man is more terrifying if he could destroy you and instead chooses to help you.”

“Man, what is that, Nietzsche or some shit?”

“Your girlfriend told me that the last time I saw you all.”

“Yeah, she’d been having fortune cookies for breakfast again.”

Eliot’s grip on Quinn’s hand resumed, and then he twisted hard. Quinn buckled slightly, but tried not to make any noise. “You _ever_ talk about her or Hardison like that again, even _breathe_ wrong near them, and I won’t be so nice next time.” Eliot pulled him close, slapping him on the back with their arms crossed between them, then pushed back and kneed Quinn in the groin. _Hard_. Quinn sank to the floor like his bones had turned to rubber, and Eliot turned to leave.

The men of the gym parted before him like he was carrying the plague. Eliot decided to take Quinn’s car back. The other hitter would recover and come to collect it.

Eventually.

Eliot practically floated home.

*

Hardison had Parker up against the wall, panting into his mouth with her legs wrapped around his waist. He kept one hand under her thigh and the other was busy working at the button on his jeans. She bit his lip and tugged, making him moan.

Once Quinn and Eliot had left the pub, his girl had instigated-for once-and he was gonna take it for all it was worth.

Hardison kissed his way down her neck to the hollow of her throat as she got her hands under his shirt and just set them on his chest. Parker wouldn’t start moving them until she was good and ready, and the thought made him whine.

She dropped her legs down for just an instant, and Hardison took advantage of the opportunity to strip her leggings and simple cotton panties off. He stayed kneeling on the floor for a moment, dark hand resting against her pale thigh, ignoring the light curls at her center in favor of looking up at her face.

He loved his guy and his girl, would worship either of them given half a chance. And it had been so long since Parker had wanted all of this, so long since Hardison had sated himself by anything other than his own hand because he’d never push either of them into anything they didn’t want or weren’t ready for-

A slight noise that didn’t come from either him or Parker made Hardison spin on his knees to the door, just in time to see Eliot shut it tight.

“Dammit.” His word lacked emphasis as he turned back and gently placed his head on Parker’s exposed abdomen.

“Go.” She said, rubbing her hand over his head. “This will be continued later.”

Hardison flicked his eyes up at her, chastely pressing a kiss just below her belly button as he pulled her leggings back up. Groaning slightly he stood, adjusting himself against his pants as he redid the button. He kissed Parker one more time before sighing and heading downstairs.

*

Eliot was sitting on the couch when Hardison came down the stairs. He wasn’t going to blush, dammit, he wasn’t going to-

“Sorry.” He and Hardison said at the same time and yep, he blushed. Though  _why_  he was blushing he couldn’t quite figure out. It’s not as if he and Hardison and Parker hadn’t done worse to each other over the past few years.

There was that memorable time in St. Petersburg...

But that had been before. Before he died, before he’d gone to Hell, before he’d come back.

Before.

Hardison sighed and sat down next to Eliot. “Look man, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable up there.”

“Make  _me_  uncomfortable?”

“Yeah. You’re more than welcome just to watch if you want, or we can even start locking the door or hanging a sock on it or something. We don’t wanna rush you into anything that you’re not ready for.”

Eliot really couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You thought I was uncomfortable?”

Hardison shifted. “Well, given the way you bolted out of there, yeah, we kinda did.”

Eliot gave an awkward laugh. “I thought I was interrupting. I didn’t mean to make you come down here and-”

“Why would you be interrupting?”

They stared at each other a moment, with mirrored looks of confusion.

“Eliot, man, you’re our  _partner_. If we were uncomfortable with you watching we would tell you, which, I gotta say, would never happen.” He shifted in his seat. “We were worried that after-”

“You thought I wouldn’t want you anymore after I came back from Hell?”

“No man, never!” A look crossed Alec’s face so briefly that Eliot really couldn’t identify it. “Well, we’d hoped not. We were more worried about what happened to you down there. You haven’t even taken your shirt off around us since your shoulder started healing on its own.”

And now Eliot winced. Things had been going so well after he’d beaten the snot out of Quinn; he’d practically flown home. He’d wanted to _touch_ them again, and then he’d practically skipped up the stairs and seen Alec kneeling at Parker’s feet, and he’d flashed straight back to hell, with him kneeling at Bazitel’s feet, looking up at her with that same look of worship on his face…

He’d felt _dirty_ again.

“Hardison, in Hell-”

“You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, baby. Swear. Only if you want to. Parker and I, we’ll respect whatever your decision is.”

And that made Eliot want desperately to tell them. But-

He shook his head. “No one else needs to know my nightmares.”

“That’s just it, Eliot. It’s not a nightmare. It  _happened_. It happened to you.”

Eliot took a deep breath in and let it out shakily. He could feel his smile wobble on his face, but it was there. “Maybe one day, I’ll tell ya then. For now, though, I really kinda miss kissing you.”

Hardison’s smile was wide, but still a bit apprehensive. “Well, if you wanna do this, wanna use the color system? You know Parker and I won’t question it, but it’ll keep you where you’re safe, yeah?”

Eliot nodded.

“Ok then. How do you feel about me touching your face?”

Eliot took in another steadying breath and then said, “Green.”

Carefully, Hardison reached out his hand and cupped Eliot’s cheek. He closed his eyes and let himself sink into the comfort of that touch, a touch he’d started craving since he’d gotten mostly back to himself. It had taken him longer than he’d thought to get back to the pub. He rubbed his stubble against the palm of Alec’s hand, reveling in the sound of Hardison’s shaky breath.

“Can I kiss you?”

Eliot nodded in response, waiting for a kiss that didn’t come. He opened his eyes and raised a brow.

“A nod ain’t a color, Eliot.”

In that brief moment, it was like a crack had appeared between curtains long shut.

“Green.” He whispered, and then Hardison’s lips touched his and someone threw one of those curtains wide open. Eliot parted his lips, inviting Hardison in, but he didn’t. So Eliot reached out with his tongue to prod his lips open.

Hardison normally wasn’t the receiver in their intimate moments. And before Hell, Eliot had enjoyed that arrangement. But when Hardison accepted his explorations without a murmur of protest, he realized they didn’t have to go back to the status quo. Not if he wasn’t ready.

He placed both of his hands on Hardison’s face and pulled him in closer.

.0.o.0.o.0.

Parker came down 20 minutes later, wondering where her boys had gotten to. She was still kind of horny, but didn’t want to take care of it herself when she knew Hardison was so ready for it.

Or he had been, at least.

Both her eyebrows shot up as she saw the couch. Hardison was straddling Eliot’s lap, and they were making out in the way she assumed horny teenagers would. Eliot had his hands under Hardison’s shirt, and from the noises she could hear him making, Eliot was definitely playing with his nipples.

Damn. She’d wanted to do that.

She had to clear her throat twice before her boys pulled apart.

“Sorry, Parker.” Hardison was out of breath. “I think we got distracted.” He still hadn’t stopped gently rocking on Eliot’s lap. She didn’t think he was doing it consciously.

“I’ll say you did.” She walked over, taking the hand Alec reached out to her. He squeezed it in further apology.

“We figured out that Eliot wasn’t embarrassed or scared about interrupting us, nor were we embarrassed about being interrupted.” He ran a hand through Eliot’s hair, oblivious to the way Eliot’s mouth fell open at a particularly long roll of Hardison’s hips. “We’re not gonna ask him about anything; he’ll tell us what he wants to when he wants to. And we’re gonna use traffic lights.”

He said this all between gasps for air. Definitely unconscious of his movements.

“Then can I kiss Eliot too?” They both looked down at Eliot, who reached up and grabbed her free hand in his.

“Green,” came out in a whisper.

She bent over the couch and kissed him upside down for a long moment, pausing when she normally would have started using her tongue. Another breathless, “Green,” had her proceeding.

Minutes passed, and Eliot’s hand transferred to the back of her head. She would have been fine to just stay this way for hours.

She’d missed the taste of him.

Then Hardison cleared his throat.

“Would you be okay moving this to the bedroom?”

She and Eliot replied in unison. “Green.”

Hardison’s laugh carried up through their space, followed closely by hers and then a breath later, Eliot’s.

It was a good sound. She’d missed it.

*

They started out just sitting on the bed, shirts off, and touching gently. Eliot got dizzy every time one of them kissed him, but it was in a good way, a way he hadn’t felt in a long time until making out on the couch with Hardison. Having Parker behind him, kissing his shoulder with her breasts pressed to his back and Hardison in front sucking little bruises onto his neck was heaven.

And he should know. He’d been to hell.

He cradled Hardison’s head as he licked the hollow of his throat. Parker’s hands running up and down his sides gave him chills. Whenever one of them pulled away from something that was both new and familiar, he’d just hiss the word green and they’d continue. All of this, he’d missed desperately. He really hadn’t allowed them to touch him since the night he’d been brought back. He hadn’t realized just how touch-starved he’d been.

Parker’s fingers slid just into the top part of his jeans, then stopped. Eliot’s jaw tensed, and he said, “Yellow.”

Parker slid her hands back up his sides, then slowly slid just the tips of her fingers under the edge again. Hardison had pulled back and was watching very carefully.

“You still doing ok, babe?”

Eliot nodded, breathing through his momentary panic.

“You want us to take our pants off first?”

Eliot felt a brief heat suffuse his cheeks, but nodded.

“You want us to keep our underwear on?”

A deep breath and then a shake no.

“Words difficult right now?”

Eliot’s anxiety that he hadn’t even known was creeping up eased slightly as he nodded.

“One squeeze for green, two for yellow, and smack the bed for red, okay? You want us to undress each other?”

Eliot knew his pupils blew wide at that question, and he nodded emphatically while giving one squeeze to Hardison’s hand. Parker dropped a last kiss to his shoulder before crawling around him and onto Alec’s lap. She draped her arms around his neck and started kissing him as Hardison deftly slid his hands down the back of Parker’s black leggings. Eliot couldn’t help but moan with her when he saw Alec knead her ass through the clingy material. He reached out to caress her back, but hesitated, wondering if his touch would be welcomed.

Parker moved her hand from Hardison’s neck and grabbed his wrist, leading his hand to her lower back. He slid his hand down, remembering Parker’s own rule about no anal play, interlocking his fingers with Hardison’s. Together they slid her pants down her hips. Parker raised each of her knees in turn, helping them to remove the black Lycra. Naked, she pushed Hardison down and began to nip and suckle her way down his chest.

Tentatively, Eliot undid his own jeans, leaving them up for now but loose. He’d been half-mast since they’d come into the bedroom, his hard on from the couch easing. But he was slowly coming back to full attention watching his lovers interact.

Usually, Parker was the one in the audience, her sex drive much lower than theirs. But Eliot didn’t mind being put in the peanut gallery today. It was allowing him to go at his own pace, to join in when he wanted and not feeling any pressure whatsoever to join in.

Which made him love them all the more.

Parker was working Hardison’s jeans down past his hips, and at the sight of the dark curls below his belly button, Eliot’s mouth dried. But for once in recent months, he didn’t think it was fear. He thought it might have been desire.

He  _knew_  it was desire when Hardison’s cock sprang free, and all Eliot wanted to do was devour him.

*

Hardison turned to see Eliot’s pupils expand just as Parker freed him from his pants. He held his hand out to Eliot as she continued to tug until his jeans were on the floor. Eliot took it without hesitation, and that made Hardison so happy his smile must have been glowing.

“Hey baby. Your words working again?”

“They’re comin’ back.”

“Good. If I asked you to kiss me, what color would you give?”

“Green. Always green.”

And then Eliot leaned in and kissed him, all open mouthed and needy. Hardison let himself get lost in the kiss. This is what normal felt like. He’d missed it terribly.

Reaching out his free hand, he caught Parker by the wrist and tugged her down next to him, just as Eliot broke the wanton kiss.

“What do you want us to do, baby?”

Eliot looked expectantly at Parker. Normally this was something they asked her. They’d do whatever she wanted to make her happy. And usually even her weird ideas wound up sexy as hell. But she looked calmly at Eliot. Hardison smiles a little at the confusion on the other man’s face.

“You’re in charge right now, honey. You want us to stop- and I  _really_  hope you don’t want us to- we’ll stop. Whatever you want us to do-”

“Within our normal boundaries.”

Hardison nodded to Parker. “Within our normal limits, we do. Whatever makes you most comfortable, Eliot.”

Hardison watched as every word made Eliot’s eyes grow wider and his eyebrows hitch higher.

Eliot paused, swallowed, then, “I want to watch you eat Parker out. Parker, I’d love it if you rode his face.”

Hardison let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, then squeezed Eliot’s hand once. “Green baby. Green all the way.” Gently, he prodded Parker back up and helped her get in position, straddling his face. He kept his right hand free, but his left fingers were firmly interlaced with Eliot’s, a silent sign that he was still with him. As Parker lowered herself onto his mouth, Hardison let his instincts take over where she was involved.

It was simple, little cat licks at first, just getting her used to the feel of his tongue on her again. The three of them had been fluid-bonded for years at this point, and Parker didn’t like it when he used a dental dam anyway. But with Parker and tongues, it was all about beats per minute. Slowly, Hardison sped up his little tongue flicks, feeling Parker go taught above him. He also felt Eliot shift through their handhold connection, and even though Parker’s calves were pressing against his ears he heard her moan,

“Eliot, keep doing that, please.”

Hardison wished that he could see what was happening, but then Eliot’s free hand- it was calloused differently than Parker’s- started toying with his nipple and Hardison really had to focus on what his tongue was doing to not loose his rhythm. It was difficult; he felt the wet spot where his dick kissed his stomach grow.

He’d always been a sucker for having his nipples played with. Hell, he’d nearly come from that alone several times. He squeezed Eliot’s hand, letting him know that all was good.

Parker ground herself against his face, and Hardison  _really_  wished he could see what was happening. He lifted his free hand to toy with her clit, and then-

Oh,  _then_.

Parker didn’t orgasm easily or often. It just wasn’t something she was worried about. Usually, when he and Eliot were intimate, she sat on the far side of the bed and touched herself, sometimes giving them directions.

But sometimes...

When she did orgasm, it was explosive.

She stayed quiet this time, frantically grinding herself against his chin and spilling girl come all over his face. Hardison felt her hands come down on either side of his hips as she worked herself through every last wave. As soon as her hips stilled, he quit moving his tongue. Parker didn’t like it when he kept going after she was done; she said sometimes it hurt.

Eliot dropped his hand to help Parker lift herself off of Hardison’s face, gently setting her back against the pillows propped on the headboard. Hardison went up on one elbow, and he knew, fucking  _knew_  that he was grinning like a lunatic. But he didn’t care. He had his best guy back, and they’d just made his best girl come.

Eliot turned back to him, and though he still had his jeans on, they were down past his hips and his cock was free, hard and dripping. Eliot grabbed Hardison’s face in both hands, pulling his face up to his and kissing the daylights out of him. Hardison put his free hand around the back of Eliot’s head, holding the other man to him as Eliot nipped and licked, cleaning his skin of Parker. Then he pulled Hardison further upright and the move brought their cocks together.

Hardison hissed at the feeling of skin on skin, very nearly tipping over at the sensation. “What next, baby?” He managed through gritted teeth.

“I want to be inside you, Alec.” The words against his collarbone sent shivers down his spine. Eliot hardly ever called him Alec, only when he was as desperate as Hardison was. Arching his back to push him further towards Eliot, he murmured,

“How do you want me, hon?”

Eliot looked over his shoulder at Parker, still leaning against the pillows.

One hand had slid down between her thighs, gently teasing her wet folds.

“You okay being a part of this?”

She nodded, then slid her legs further apart as Eliot grabbed him by the shoulder and towed him over. Eliot sat between Parker’s legs, giving her access to his neck that she immediately started to pepper with short, quick kisses.

Hardison couldn’t see Parker’s right hand, but her arm was moving a little faster.

Eliot still had his jeans on, and when Hardison moved to take them off, he grabbed Hardison’s wrist in a careful grip.

“Leave them on?” Eliot’s directive came out closer to a question, but Hardison just shrugged.

“Do you want me to use a condom?” This was intended as a question.

“Not unless you want it, baby. This is all about you, remember?”

Eliot closed his eyes and took a deep breath before shaking his head. “Then no, I don’t want a condom.”

“Do you want to prep me or-”

“I want to watch you stretch yourself. I want to watch you get yourself wet and ready for me.”

Hardison’s breath hitched.

“Parker, babe, could you pass me-”

The tube from the nightstand hit his chest with a gentle thump. “Thanks girl.”

With his left hand, Hardison gently pushed Eliot back between Parker’s legs. Taking the lube in his right, he crawled forward until he was over them both.

“Parker,” Eliot whispered. “Tell Alec exactly what I can feel you’re doing right now.”

“I’m touching my clit. Light and feathery, like Hardison does when he wants to make things just right.”

His breath hitched again as Hardison dropped a kiss to the side of Eliot’s neck and flipped open the lid of the lube one handed.

“What else are you doing?”

“I’m rubbing my lips, just a little, against the denim of your jeans. It’s just a little rough, and it feels so good.” She groaned a little as Eliot ground back just a little bit.

Hardison had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. He nipped the inside of Eliot’s wrist, very lightly.

“You wanna watch my face or my hands, baby?”

“Your face. I wanna see your face while you stretch yourself open for me.”

God- _damn_ , he wished he could just drop down on Eliot’s cock right now. Instead, he kissed the underside of Eliot’s jaw, then the hollow of his throat, before sitting back on his knees, hovering over his jean-clad legs. Hardison switched the bottle from his right hand to his left, then squeezed a small amount to start with on his fingers.

Eliot’s hands gripped his hips to help him balance as he reached behind himself to touch his already twitching hole.

“Start slow; one finger.”

He did moan at that.

“S’not fair.”

“One finger, Alec. Slow. Please.”

The please did him in, and Hardison groaned deep in his chest as he slid one finger knuckle deep in his ass. He closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d had sex with Eliot, but it had been even longer since he’d received. Eliot usually liked to be the one taking it, but now...

Well, Hardison was willing to do a great many things for him. At least this was one he’d enjoy.

Slowly, Eliot had him add one more finger, then another. Hardison’s head was down, and his hips were thrusting back onto his fingers of their own accord. He felt a sheen of light sweat break out on the back of his neck.

“Spread your fingers, Alec. Wide as you can.”

Hardison’s hand was moving before his brain could quite catch up with the words. His head snapped up, eyes flying open, and then Eliot’s hands were on his face and he was pulling him in for a kiss. Their weeping cocks touched, and Parker’s hand- he knew it was Parker because Eliot’s hands were occupied, one of his was braced on the bed, and the other, well- Parker’s hand wrapped around both of them and stroked slowly but firmly.

Eliot moaned into Hardison’s panting mouth.

“Alec, Alec now.”

Hardison shifted his hips, braced both hands on Eliot’s thighs, then slowly impaled himself on Eliot’s cock, groaning as he did so. Slowly, inch by inch, he slid down, pausing now and again to catch his breath. Eliot was giving him these short, half thrusts, trying to help and just making it more difficult to hold his composure.

Once he was fully seated, Hardison had to just sit and  _breathe_  for a moment. He’d forgotten how  _full_  and  _intense_  this was. He kept his hands on Eliot’s thighs, trying to keep himself from falling over.

“God, Alec...” Eliot’s voice was as ragged and broken as Hardison’s breathing. “I ain’t gonna last, man. Been, been too damn long.”

“I’m not gonna be too far behind.”

“Want me to help?”

Eliot turned his head and kissed Parker’s cheek. “That’ll be up to Hardison, babe.”

There was a pause, then, “You haven’t called me that in a long time.” There was no mistaking the joy in Parker’s voice.

Eliot let out a shaky laugh that not only did things to make his heart melt but did things to make his entire body squirm.

“Eliot, baby, please, can I move?”

He reached up and cupped Hardison’s face. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” he gasped, rising shakily on his knees and then dropping slowly down again.

“Oh,  _fuck_ ,” was the response that got him.

It was Hardison’s turn to laugh.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, man.”

 _There_. That earned him the growl that sent shivers down his spine.

“You called me babe.” Parker was obviously not to be dissuaded from her line of thought.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to- ah!” Hardison gave him an extra squeeze as he rose up.

“She meant she missed you calling her that.”

“Noted.” Eliot’s voice was strained. “Alec, sweetie, can I-”

Hardison cut him off with a roll of his hips. “Whatever you want.”

“Good,” came out on a grunt and then Eliot sat up and pushed Hardison flat on the mattress, hooking one of his knees on his elbow. Hardison threw his head back and groaned as Eliot pulled almost all the way out and then  _slammed_  back into him.

“That slow pace was going to kill me. Again.” Hardison’s laugh was strained and choppy as he continued to thrust into him at a nearly brutal pace, the zipper of Eliot’s jeans scraping against the spot where ass met thigh. Eventually, Hardison managed to pick up his rhythm, and soon Eliot’s strokes got shorter and sharper, his hips snapping faster. Carefully, nearly tenderly, he interlaced his fingers with Hardison’s clean ones and pressed a kiss to his throat.

“Close. Not too long. Need a hand?”

Hardison could barely manage to nod.

Again, it wasn’t Eliot’s hand that wrapped around him; it was Parker’s. But she managed to match their speed within two strokes and snuck a little twist on the end and then-

Hardison’s world flew apart.

*

Eliot watched Hardison’s eyes go glassy and then squeeze shut as he came. He clenched his teeth, Hardison’s grip on his cock nearly undoing him. Panting, he pressed his face into Hardison’s neck and sped up his strokes. Parker ran a hand over his cheek, tucking loose hairs behind his ear, and that was it, Eliot whited out.

He fell back into his body slowly; the first thing he felt was Parker’s light touch tracing his spine. Hardison was still sprawled underneath him, breathing just as hard.

“You ok, man?” He managed against Alec’s neck.

“Still trying to figure out where my spine went. I think you fucked it right outta me.”

Eliot snorted, then slowly began to untangle himself, dropping Hardison’s knee from his arm. He groaned and his ass twitched, gripping at Eliot’s sensitive and softening cock. He slid out with a hiss.

“Parker, sweetie, could you please-”

A warm, damp washcloth was suddenly under his nose. He hadn’t even heard her get off the bed. He turned his head and kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

She shrugged, hoping off the bed with an ease Eliot sorely envied right now. “I’m going to take a shower. Change the sheets when you can move again.”

Eliot huffed a sigh at her retreating back and Hardison whined. He rolled off of him, using the cloth briefly on his own cock and abdomen before reaching down and gently wiping at Hardison’s stomach. The younger man groaned and batted at his hand ineffectually.

“Do you  _want_  to get all tacky and gross? By  _all_  means, let me stop myself before I  _offend_  you further.” Yeah, his sarcasm had taken a lesson or two from Hardison over the years.

He grunted. “Keep goin’.”

“That’s what I thought.” Eliot grabbed the hand that was starting to look sticky with drying lube and cleaned it slowly. When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he sat up, moaning as he did so.

“Can you lift your knees for me?” Hardison did, begrudgingly. Eliot bent in to wipe up what was starting to run uncomfortably down Hardison’s ass and went cold all over. Cautiously, he ran a hand across Alec’s upper thigh, and winced as he twitched and groaned.

“Hardison, why didn’t you tell me what was happening?” Alec didn’t even lift his head.

“Because then you would have stopped, and like  _hell_  would I let that happen.”

Eliot stared in horror at the raw skin on his thighs. “But Alec-”

“No buts, man.” He finally lifted his head, though it seemed to take a lot of effort. “I don’t mind all that much. Besides, in the moment, it was hot as fuck.” He reached out a hand that Eliot unconsciously grabbed. “It’s like, “look at that, my guy can’t even wait to get his pants off to have me.” Definite confidence boost right there.”

“But I could have waited.” And dammit, his voice cracked at the end, and he felt tears rise in his throat. “I never,  _ever_  wanted to do anything to hurt you or Parker.  _Never_.”

“Oh, baby...” Hardison sat up now, wrapping his arms around Eliot and starting to rub his back. He jerked away, and his heart broke a little at the hurt expression on Alec’s face.

“Never wanted to hurt you...” Eliot bent his knees up and rested his elbows on them, lacing his fingers behind his head in a protective huddle. Hardison reached out a hand to his shoulder, and when Eliot didn’t flinch away, wrapped himself around Eliot.

He didn’t want to admit how much he needed that comfort, that touch. He wasn’t quite startled that he found tears in his eyes, but Hardison made no comment.

Parker came out a few minutes later, toweling her hair, took one look at them and proceeded to drape herself over the both of them.

Eliot let the heat of their bodies warm him for a moment, then two, before taking a deep breath.

“A lotta things happened down in Hell. The- the way it works is you only go if you feel guilt.” Hardison and Parker thankfully stayed quiet. “From the day I first killed a man, I knew I was goin’ to hell. Didn’t matter what the preacher or the government said, killin’ was still murder. If I’d just been defending myself, I coulda lived with it, I guess. But-” he broke off, sighed, then continued. “I really knew I was damned the first time I killed for money. Took me till I left Moreau to realize that I didn’t  _have_  to kill to get the job done. Took me till Toby to learn to live again.

“In Hell, they find out what your worst fears are, what you’re guiltiest about, and make you live something like that in a loop, over and over. But they’ve got to figure out what it is first. Use’ta be easy when Lucifer was in charge. He could just  _look_  at you and know. But since he’s been in LA, they’ve had to get more... creative, in how they figure that out.”

One of Parker’s fingers started absently tracing over one of the new scars on his forearm, one of the ones where Bazitel had driven an iron spike through.

“They never stuck me in a loop. I guess I’m a stubborn bastard that way. They couldn’t figure me out, not for a while. It took-” Eliot inhaled shakily, letting the air out slowly. “It took them literally crucifying me on the stone before I cracked, even a little. Cause yeah, I felt  _guilty_  about what I’d done. Still do. But I’ve made  _peace_  with it.

“In the end, it was these, these  _things_  that nearly did me in. Abominations, Lucifer called them. Some lower class of demon. Bazitel, she was in charge, but she left these things in the cave with me and they-”

He still couldn’t say it. He couldn’t. Hardison just squeezed him tight, and Parker started stroking his hair.

“I’d’a fought ‘em, but I was pinned to the stone the first time. After that, I just wasn’t strong enough. Not physically, even though Bazitel would heal me periodically, and not mentally strong enough either, not with them there constantly.”

He stayed quiet for a really long moment, still trying to sort out his thoughts. “Bazitel, she was half gorgeous woman, half burned and rotting skeleton, split straight down the middle. And she must’a liked looking like that or something, ‘cause she could and did change the way she looked. She made herself look like a lotta people, people I’d hurt, people I’d killed. But she liked to appear as you guys a lot.”

Parker stiffened slightly, but kept running her fingers through his hair. Hardison pressed a kiss to his temple.

“She stopped doing that about the same time she nailed me to the floor. Guess she realized looking like y’all wasn’t gonna hurt me ‘cause I knew deep down you’d never do any of that. So she set her  _things_  on me to soften me up, and then dealt me the biggest blow she could get her hands on.

“She showed me you guys, conning Lucifer. Only she didn’t tell me it was a con. The way she showed me it just looked like y’all had moved on. It hurt, but I figured at first that time had passed. It moves different down there. But then she told me that what had been months for me had just been twelve days for you.”

Parker’s hand had slowly stopped her ministrations, and Alec sucked in a breath in Eliot’s ear.

“That finally succeeded in breaking me wide open. Took her a couple more days of mostly leaving me alone with the abominations before she came back to announce she’d finally figured out my hell loop. And that’s when Lucifer showed up.”

They knew the rest; that he’d woken up in his coffin, frantically searching for any kind of light or air, digging his way through the cheap wood- thank God they’d honored his wishes for a biodegradable coffin- and the dirt, pulling his way out of his own grave and into midnight Portland. That he’d stumbled his way through back streets to the brew pub, punched in a half-remembered code, mostly by muscle memory, and fell into the back room where they’d found him an hour later.

That much he had told them before, in fits and starts, mostly when Sterling had demanded to know something.

“It’s why I wouldn’t take ‘em off.” Eliot pulled one hand free and gestured to his jeans, still undone but now pulled up. “I trust you guys, but it was...” he sighed. “It’s still rough, with my nightmares. That one last vulnerability I didn’t want to have. One that I had a choice in. And because I was selfish-”

“Don’t you  _dare_  call that being selfish.” Hardison’s voice was wavering with tears.

“What would you call it, then?”

“Sane.” Parker’s answer was just one word. Then, “You don’t call it selfish when I ask you to hold my safety line.”

“That’s... that’s different-”

“No it’s not. It’s you responding to a shitty thing that happened to you, and it was a comfort when you were doing something you weren’t even sure you were ready for.” Hardison squeezed him gently. “I can assure you that a little lost skin is well worth your sanity.”

Parker did one of her narrow space/wall climbing moves over them to look at Hardison’s ass. “It’s really not even that bad. He’s had worse rope burns.”

“And in more tender places, too.”

That succeeded in getting a watery laugh out of Eliot.

“Now that Parker is back, you mind if I go take a quick shower?”

“Not at all, man.”

Hardison pulled back slightly and tipped Eliot’s face up to his. “You still gonna be here when I get back?”

Eliot reached up and kissed him, lightly nipping Hardison’s lip before pulling away. “I’ll be here.”

*

Parker held Eliot until she heard the water start up again in the bathroom. Then she tugged on his arm, got him off the bed, and towed him to the linen closet. He sighed.

“I guess we’re changing the sheets, then?”

“You’re the one who made us start doing this in the first place.”

“That was just me being polite!” He scoffed at her, but there wasn’t any heat behind it. “You always change the sheets if you’re the last up. But it’s not every day you-” he swallowed audibly, and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s not every day you bare your soul in bed.”

She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and hugged him briefly, but tightly. Then she pretended not to see him wipe the tears from his eyes.

She pulled fresh linens from the closet, tossing the fitted sheet at Eliot’s chest. He caught it, then walked back to the bed and started stripping the sheets with a sigh. Parker watched him walk away, then turned to Hardison’s dresser and dug through his workout things till she found enough sweatpants and T-shirts to go around. She tugged on the smallest set, cracked open the door to the bathroom and placed a set on the sink for Alec, then went and helped Eliot finish making the bed. She handed him the last set of pajamas, then crawled into the bed.

Eliot hesitated for a moment, then pulled off his jeans and pulled on the slightly too large sweat pants. He put the shirt back in the dresser. Then he sat on the far edge of the bed.

“Eliot.” He turned slightly and raised an eyebrow at her. “You said before, years ago on that mountain, that we make the hard decisions. It’s what makes us, us. What you told me and Hardison today, that was a hard decision. But it was the right one.” She reached out and laid her hand over his. “I love you, Eliot.”

She’d realized she’d never said those words out loud before. Not to him. She rarely said them at all, but never yet to him.

He didn’t try and hide his tears this time. She pulled Eliot down on the bed with her and wrapped herself around him, letting him cry. He was slowing down, drained, by the time Hardison walked in wearing the clothes she’d left for him. He stopped, checked her face, then climbed into the bed behind Eliot.

He didn’t touch him, not at first, not until Eliot slid a hand behind himself and pulled Hardison down at his back. Alec wrapped his longer arms around both of them and settled down, pressing a kiss to Parker’s forehead and Eliot’s shoulder before both of her boys drifted off.

Parker stayed awake a little longer, but eventually she too dozed off.

*

“Dammit, _Hardison_.”

Those words were music to his ears, even if it was  _way_  too damn early for them.

“What?” He blinked his eyes open slowly. “What’d I do?”

Eliot pulled from his embrace- and  _that_  Hardison regretted- and hit him with a pillow that Parker had handed him.

“Why the  _hell_  did you set an alarm for two fifteen in the morning?!”

“I  _didn’t._ ” He was waking up more now. What was that-

Suddenly he was wide awake and out of bed, leaving the other two to stare at his vapor trail.

“ _Dammit_ , Hardison-”

But he was already down the stairs,  _running_  for the big computer. Maybe it was a false alarm, maybe the facial recognition-

His hands flew over the keys as he called up the one good photo he had of her face from outside Lux. He ran it through the program again, then against her passport just to be sure.

Eliot and Parker walked in just as the match dinged once more. Eliot froze in his tracks.

“It’s the alert I set on the tracking program. Gloria Chapman just came out of her hole. She’s back in the US.

“She’s in DC, Eliot. What do you want to do?”

.0.o.0.o.0.

Gloria Chapman was  _furious_.  _Still_.

She’d thought that some of her fury and anger would bleed away once her father’s murderer was dead. But it hadn’t.

She’d thought that most people in the world had  _wanted_  Eliot Spencer dead. But apparently-and she was  _disgusted_ by this-they’d thought he’d changed. That he didn’t kill people anymore. And he hadn’t, not for years. Not till he’d murdered her father in cold blood. Moreau had told her everything. Everything the man had done, including turning over this supposed new leaf.

But that he’d gone back on his word as soon as Moreau had snapped his fingers, killing some general about eight years back. Then, to get back at Moreau, he’d ambushed and murdered her father and all of his men.

Eliot Spencer had deserved to die.

But no one save Moreau had wanted to help her. She’d had to make a deal with a man who thought himself the devil to find his address, and that  _was_  going to bite her in the ass one day, she just knew it. Sighing, she got off her metro stop and saw something out of the corner of her eye that made her heart stop.

Whipping around, she tensed, ready to spring and-

“You ok, lady?” The tall black man in hipster clothing on her left looked at her with an eyebrow raised. Gloria laughed uncomfortably.

“Yeah, thought I saw... someone.”

The black guy rolled his eyes and shook his head, then walked off. Gloria stared at his back. He seemed... familiar, but she couldn’t quite place him. She sighed, then continued on with a mental shrug.

Ever since word had gotten out over the darknet that she’d been the one to take down Spencer, the job offers that she’d expected to come pouring in had all but dried up. The other retrieval specialists out there had mostly quit talking to her at this point, led by Quinn. Apparently, they all thought she’d done something  _wrong_  by killing him.

Idiots.

She froze mid step this time, taking a second look at the ad on the bus next to her. She’d have sworn that was-

“Watch it!”

A brunette woman all but knocked her over, and if Gloria hadn’t had all her fighting training she would have. The woman full on slammed into her right side, spinning Gloria’s shoulder.

“You watch it!” She sighed as the bus moved on. “Freaking tourists.”

A phone started ringing with annoying closeness. She looked around, not seeing where the sound was coming from, until she realized the ringing was coming from her pocket. Gloria reached into her coat and pulled out a burner phone that was definitely not hers. Suspicious, and with a chill running down her spine, she flipped it open and answered.

“Hello?”

_“Ms. Chapman. Mr. Morningstar would like a word with you.”_

No.

_No._

He was  _dead_. There was no way that-

 _“He’d like a word with you_ now _._ _Check your other pocket.”_ As Gloria unconsciously reached for her left coat pocket, a different bus pulled up to the stop with a hiss.

A hiss that echoed on the phone she held to her ear.

Gloria spun around, burner dropping from her fingers, frantically looking around.

 _There_. Fifteen, twenty yards back. She only saw half his face, but the half she saw was lifted in a grim smile. She saw him close the phone he was using, and then someone walked between them in the crowd. She shifted, trying to keep an eye on him, but he was gone.

But he’d been there. And he shouldn’t have been.  _Couldn’t_ have been. She’d put two in his chest and one between his eyes. But he’d _been_ there.

Eliot Spencer had been there.

Gloria walked cautiously back to where she’d seen him standing. There was a boot print, just on the curb that looked the freshest. It was outlined in yellow. Tentatively, she reached out and touched it, bringing a small bit back to her nose to smell.

Rotten eggs. Sulfur.

She stood up, eyes casting left and right as she finally reached into her coat pocket, pulling out an envelope that definitely hadn’t been there before. It was thick, creamy parchment, with her name written in deep red. Opening it, she found a letter wrapped around a plane ticket for a flight that left Dulles in two hours for LAX. She opened the note.

_Ms. Chapman-_

_-When my emissary says I’d like a word with you now, I mean_ _ now _ _._

_-LM_

Gloria ran for her apartment, ignoring the looks she got from other commuters.

In hindsight, she shouldn’t have gone for her go bag. She should have just run for her safe house.

She opened the door of her apartment and was immediately hit with a wave of sulfur scent. Gagging as she stepped inside, she grabbed the bag she kept by the exit only to have the door shut in her face. Gloria whirled around, getting and keeping her back to the wall. She reached for the small of her back where she kept her Glock.

“I wouldn’t. You’ve already tried that before.”

She froze, feeling the blood drain from her face.

“You... you’re dead. I  _killed_  you.”

The figure sitting in her armchair shrugged broad shoulders, tossing his head to flip hair out of his eyes.

“It didn’t seem to stick.”

“I put a  _bullet_  in your  _brain_.”

“That you did.” He stood, walking over to her, casually reaching behind her and pulling out her gun. Ignoring her flinch, he unloaded the pistol and cleared the chamber. “But you see, you weren’t the only one who made a deal with the Devil.”

And it must have been a trick of the low light in her apartment, because Gloria swore his eyes flashed red for the briefest moment.

“Get on the flight, Gloria. Lucifer doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

She nearly forgot her bag in her haste to get away from him, but she grabbed it and  _ran_.

.0.o.0.o.0.

“She’s headed your way, Hardison. Remember, don’t do the drop until-”

_“Until she looks and tries to see if that’s really Eliot, I know Parker.” He sighed. “Sorry to snap, babe, I’m just on edge.”_

“ _You think you’re on edge; last time I saw this chick she_ killed _me.”_

 _“_ Hush. You got better.”

“ _She saw me. Now, Hardison.”_

_“She’s moving up the stairs now. Handing the tail over to you, Parker.”_

“I’ve got her. Did you hack the bus?”

_“I did not hack the bus, Parker, I hacked the ad on the side. She just saw it. Go.”_

“Watch it!”

_“Good. Eliot, go ahead and call her.”_

_“Ms. Chapman. Mr. Morningstar would like a word._   _He’d like a word with you_ now.  _Check your other pocket.”_

“Eliot, she turned when the bus stopped and saw you. I’m gonna block her view and you get to the ride.”

“ _Dammit, Hardison, a moped?”_

 _“You’ll fit in the DC crowd and you’ll get there before her._ Move.”

_“Parker, did you get her door wired?”_

“It’ll shut as soon as you push the button on your phone. But I need to warn you about-”

_“Seriously? Sulfur?”_

“You said you wanted to sell it!”

_“Uh-uh, you ain’t getting in Lucille till you wash if you smell as bad as I think you’re gonna smell.”_

_“Dammit, Parker! This is my favorite coat and I am never gonna get this smell out!”_

“Quiet, she’s taking the stairs three at a time. She’s unlocking the door now.”

_“I wouldn’t. You’ve already tried that before.”_

_“You... you’re dead. I_ killed  _you.”_

_“It didn’t seem to stick.”_

_“I put a_ bullet  _in your_ brain. _”_

_“That you did. But you see, you weren’t the only one who made a deal with the Devil.”_

“Don’t flinch Eliot, this light Hardison rigged is bright.”

_“Get on the flight, Gloria. Lucifer doesn’t like to be kept waiting._

_“She’s out. Hardison, the bug I planted when I got her gun, is it working?”_

_“Yup, and she’s headed straight to Dulles.”_

“Wrap it up, boys. Our flight leaves 15 minutes before hers.”

*

Gloria got off her plane in LAX and was headed out of the building before she realized that she had no idea what to do next. She stopped near the doors, casting her eyes briefly over the chauffeur queue, then her eyes skipped back to a blonde, female chauffeur of medium height, holding a simple placard that said “Chapman.” Slowly, she walked up to her, scanning the woman up and down.

“Gloria Chapman?” She started as the woman spoke, then laughed a little nervously.

“That’s me.”

“Mr. Morningstar sent me to make sure you arrived safely at Lux. Do you have any checked bags?”

Gloria pulled at her duffel. “This is it.”

“May I take that for you?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got it, thanks,” she squinted at the driver’s name tag. “Chloe.”

“Very well. If you’ll follow me?”

Gloria did, her head on a swivel. Twice, she thought she saw Spencer in the crowd, but no one approached them. It wasn’t until she slid into the limo and saw the dark-haired woman inside that she realized it wasn’t just her and the driver.

“Please, do not worry.” The woman’s dark eyes flashed in the streetlights from outside, and her accent reminded Gloria a bit of Lucifer’s. “I am simply a friend of Mr. Morningstar.”

*

_Six hours earlier…_

“Detective, I’d like to introduce you to Agent James Sterling from Interpol.”

Chloe raised one eyebrow as she continued pouring over the murder file the new Lieutenant had just dropped onto her desk. “Lucifer, if this is another stripper, I-”

“I can assure you, Detective Decker, I am not, nor have I ever been an exotic dancer.” The cool, rough British voice, succeeded where Lucifer’s had not, and she looked up to see a short man in a dark blue suit standing there, looking slightly peeved at Lucifer.

Detective Chloe Decker knew that look all too well.

“Jim is an old friend of mine-” Lucifer’s grip on the agent’s shoulder seemed too tight to truly be ‘friendly’-“and he dropped by to ask me if he could use my club for an Interpol sting.”

“And he accepted on the condition that the LAPD be asked to join in.”

Now Chloe’s other eyebrow went up a notch. “Isn’t this something that the Lieutenant should be consulted on?”

“He’s already in with my agents being briefed.” Chloe’s quick glance at Pierce’s office showed her two agents, one male, one female, both dark haired with the man slightly greying. “Mr. Morningstar was adamant that you be included in this operation.”

Chloe leaned back in her chair and looked between Agent Sterling and Lucifer. Lucifer had on his annoying, cock-sure grin, but Sterling stayed stoic.

“Why Lux? Why Lucifer?” She kept her gaze pointedly on the Interpol agent.

“Because he’s the only one in this whole bloody farce who could actually get in contact with our target.”

Ah. _Now_ Lucifer’s grin made sense.

“Detective Decker.” Chloe promptly stood as Lieutenant Marcus Pierce strode over to her desk, followed by the two other Interpol agents. “I see you’ve meet Agent Sterling; these are his colleagues-”

“Subordinates.”

“-Agents Moore and Anderson.”

The woman held out her hand. “I’m Stephanie, and my partner is Jonathan.” British accent too, more cockney than either of the two men, at least to Chloe’s ear. She shook the woman’s hand briefly, then the man’s.

“Please, call me Jon.” American. Older. Close to Sterling’s age.

“Whatever cases you’ve got, spread them to other Detectives. Espinoza can take a couple more.” Chloe saw Dan’s eyeroll, but thankfully Pierce didn’t. “Whatever these agents need, you’re their contact.”

“Yes Sir.”

The Lieutenant walked away with a brief nod to each of the agents and nothing for her or Lucifer. Chloe let out a small sigh, then smiled slightly at Sterling.

“So who exactly _are_ you guys trying to arrest?”

“What do you know about Gloria Chapman?”

*

_Now…_

Sophie smiled benevolently at the startled hitter sitting across the limo from her.

_“Keep her calm. Make sure she knows you’re not a lawyer.”_

Sophie tipped her head and blinked. She really didn’t need Sterling in her head right now.

“Just a friend of Mr. Morningstar, my dear. And he has some information that may interest you a great deal.” Crossing her legs, Sophie held out the manila envelope Hardison had put together before his mad dash to D.C.

Gloria flinched back ever so slightly.

Sophie’s grin broadened for a moment. This would be easier than she’d thought.

“Mr. Morningstar managed to get your father’s case reopened. This is the ballistics report,” -and the whole team owed Detective Captain Bonanno for the completely fake yet scrupulously official paperwork- “and, as you can see, the men seemed to have gotten into an argument with each other and shot themselves.”

Except for one man with a broken neck. But that wasn’t worth mentioning at the moment.

Gloria stared down at the papers in her shaking hands. Moreau _lied_? Her father… Spencer-

She’d shot an innocent man. Not that it mattered, nor had he been _really_ innocent, not if half her father’s stories of the man were true, but he wasn’t the rightful target of her rage.

In fact-

“If you look at the next page, you’ll see that the reason for the argument seems to be over this clever banking your father was arranging.” Sophie tsked. “It appears as though your father as skimming from his men and Moreau let them know.

“Such a shame, no? Driver, it appears as though Ms. Chapman is a bit peaked. Is this car fully stocked?”

“Only with Mr. Morningstar’s best.”

With shaking hands, Gloria poured herself two fingers of whiskey and downed it in one swallow. The alcohol settled her.

*

_Five hours earlier…_

They laid out their plans in Lucifer’s penthouse over Lux.

“I’ve got two other agents birddogging Chapman with one of the people she attempted to kill.”

Chloe’s mouth dropped open a little at Sterling’s bold declaration. “You have two agents and a _what_ following her?”

“A man who she attempted to break and kill, and she very nearly succeeded.” Lucifer’s voice was icy as he answered her question. “He was the only one who could rattle her enough to flush her into the open.”

“As well as the only person we’ve located who survived her attack and was willing to expose himself to her a second time.” Agent Moore added, one of his eyes straying towards Lucifer’s liquor cabinet.

“She shot him twice in the chest, and we almost lost him several times.” Agent Anderson stood a little apart from them, her arms crossed over her chest. “But we used that to our advantage. Staged a crime scene, had it investigated by the Portland P.D. Almost had to bribe the coroner-”

She broke off with a half-laugh and a shake of the head.

Agent Sterling let out a deep breath with a sigh. “The thing is, Chapman came here to get information about Eliot Spencer from Lucifer-”

Chloe’s brain screeched to a halt. “Hold on, wait a second. _Eliot Spencer_? The guy from half a dozen international wanted lists? _That’s_ our victim? And you haven’t arrested him yet?”

Sterling gritted his teeth. “We secured his cooperation in this mess with an offer of immunity for any past crimes, at least in the States. Should he ever put a toe over the line again, you can bet that we’ll arrest him in a heartbeat. But for now, he is, as you say, a victim. And he’s offering us an opportunity to catch someone wanted for a string of crimes, including but not limited to the intimidation of witnesses, attempted murder, _torture_ , and of course, espionage and murder.”

Chloe watched in near awe as the man’s face went from red to near purple.

“She’s second generation in this business, and of course has ties to Damien Moreau, her bloody godfather. Even stuck in an underground cell, that bastard is still causing problems.”

Chloe held up her hands and took a step back.

“Okay, fine. What’s the plan for getting her confession then?”

“Why _detective_ ,” and honestly, Lucifer’s smile should have been _illegal_ as he took a sip of his bourbon. “She’s just going to offer it right up to us, isn’t she, Agent Sterling?”

*

_Now…_

Gloria’s entire body was stiff as she rode the elevator up to Lucifer’s penthouse over Lux next to-

She didn’t even know the woman’s name. Just that she worked for Morningstar. In any case, the ride wasn’t as comfortable as the woman made it seem. The hiss that came from the room as she entered didn’t comfort her either.

She gave a tiny flinch as the shadows in the corner coalesced into the form of Eliot Spencer, his teeth bared in a growl. How had he gotten here before her? She’d left him in her apartment in D.C., there was no physical way for him to have gotten here before her.

No _physical_ way. But if he was one of Lucifer’s demons now-

Anything was possible.

“Spencer, your presence is no longer required. Leave us.”

Gloria was hard put to stand still as Eliot stalked towards her, murder intent in his eyes.

“Spencer, _enough_.” The last word cracked like a whip through the chill room, and Gloria was absurdly grateful in that moment for Lucifer.

Even if this was all his fault in the first place.

She managed to stand her ground and not pull away as Eliot rammed her shoulder with his on his way into the elevator. The whole room stayed silent until the car was whirring its way downstairs.

“Now, Ms. Chapman, Gloria, I’d like to introduce you to a, well a _friend_ of mine. James, this is the infamous Gloria Chapman. Gloria, this is Interpol Agent Jim Sterling.”

Gloria’s jaw sagged slightly. Was he _insane_? Interpol?

Lucifer’s eyes flashed red in the briefest of warnings.

“Ms. Chapman, I’d like to advise you of your rights.”

She kept her mouth shut while Sterling-of _course_ she knew who he was-rattled off two different strings of rights under law, one for the U.S. and one to cover Interpol’s bases.

“Do you understand what I’ve told you, Ms. Chapman?”

She had half a thought to ask for an attorney, but the red gleam flashed again, and Gloria swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Now, Gloria, I believe you were about to tell me something?”

Lucifer’s eyes hypnotized her, keeping her frozen like a rat caught by a cobra.

“Ah, right. You were just about to confess your sins, yes?”

The eyes on hers flashed again, a longer lasting one this time. Gloria _saw_ what awaited her, and very nearly lost control of her bladder. She’d done some bad things in her time, but this was on a different level entirely.

She _saw_ what had been done to Spencer, _felt_ what he’d gone through, all in an instant.

She shuddered and blinked, breaking Lucifer’s hold, but not his gaze. She felt her tongue stutter to life.

“I-I-I shot Eliot Spencer. I did it. I did it thinking he was the one who’d killed my father. I’ve since been proven wrong.”

Lucifer looked over his shoulder, and Gloria’s knees turned to water as he relased her from his hold.

“That good enough for you, agents? Detective?”

Gloria whipped her head around as three people stepped out of the dark bedroom. One was the woman from the limo, one the driver of the limo, and the third a man of an age to Sterling. Seeing the three together-minus the driver-the faces finally clicked.

She’d known the woman seemed familiar, but hadn’t been able to place her. Especially given the bombshell dropped onto her in the limo.

Jim Sterling. Nate Ford. Sophie Devereaux.

Gloria opened her mouth to say something-she had no idea what, exactly-but then Lucifer cleared his throat and she gulped the words down.

Sterling spoke. “It’s certainly enough for me. Detective Decker?”

The blonde driver lifted one side of her mouth in a grim smile. “Good enough for me.”

When Sterling next spoke, it was through clenched teeth. “Then on behalf of our deal with Mr. Morningstar, the collar is yours.”

Gloria spun and looked at Lucifer, her jaw hanging.

The Devil just smiled.

Then something _flickered_ and Gloria screamed.

*

Eliot watched as Gloria Chapman was hauled, screaming incoherently, by Detective Decker out of Lux’s elevator and into the waiting squad car. He had one arm wrapped around a tall African American male’s shoulders and one around a slim blonde woman’s waist.

Chloe chose to ignore the familiar intimacy he had with his agents. If she remembered her wanted sheets correctly, these two “agents” bore a striking resemblance to Alec Hardison and Parker, no last name, known associates of Spencer’s. She decided to let it go.

This time.

“How did you get here before us?” She asked, not looking directly at them.

“Agent Anderson programmed your GPS to take the long way. We took a more direct route.”

Chloe just shook her head as she slid into the black and white, barely seeing the tall man press a kiss to Spencer’s head.

Definitely _way_ above her pay grade.

.0.o.0.o.0.

Lucifer moved up next to the three thieves. “Are you absolutely certain that ménage is off the table?”

Eliot stiffened, but Alec just smiled at the Devil. “Completely.”

“Definitely.” Said Parker.

“Ain’t gonna happen.” Was Eliot’s hesitating contribution.

“Well, I’m glad to see that your sense of humor survived the pit.”

Eliot squeezed the arms he had wrapped around his partners just a tiny bit more.

“Well, I’ve got something to hold onto. Hope. Makes the world seem a lot less bleak.”

Lucifer smiled. “And I’d call _that_ a debt repaid.” He held a hand out to Spencer. “Look me up the next time you three are in L.A., or if you ever decide to change your mind on that offer.”

Eliot hesitated for the briefest of moments, then took Lucifer’s hand with a short laugh. “Will do. And thank you.”

“No thanks necessary, unless it’s to your partners. They’re the ones that saved you, on more than one level.”

This time the smile was genuine.

“I know.” He kissed each of them, chaste and on the cheek. “Let’s go home.”


End file.
